The Darkness of the Cathedral
by Jazz2305
Summary: Two lost souls, echoing through the night. She lights a candle, her wishes unknown while he watches from the shadows. The night holds a multitude of secrets and dark, lost desires. The clouds are rolling in... AH, OOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Stephenie Meyer owns all recognisable characters affiliated with Twilight.**

**Incidentally - I'm English, so my spelling may vary from the US norm. Don't let that trip you up.**

_Click. Click. Click._

Her footsteps.

The sharp, staccato exclamation of her step captured me. Enveloped me in a brunette dream of desperation and loneliness.

The cathedral was empty. The high ceiling and the forgotten relics gathered the moment and threw it back to me. I watched her from the shadows, eyes following the lines of her form that I'd memorised from my shameful obsessive behaviour.

She approached the line of candles, flickering shadows up against the cold stones and frescoes. Each one burning for a forgotten soul, a lost love. She paused before them and the wet glisten in her eyes made me ache, made me wish for a connection I'd disavowed long ago.

I felt like a monster. Watching her, stalking her. My torn angel.

I heard her words. Heard her voice, breathy and strained in the dome of the cathedral.

"Forgive me. Let the light find those I have lost."

She bowed before the alter of flickering candles and guilt. My chest was pained, and confusion flooded my senses. What was I feeling?

She lit her candle with a Zippo lighter adorned in flame and the emblem of Jack Daniels, my favoured alter. In any other circumstance I would have laughed, for her lighter was the twin of mine. But now was not the time for levity.

She spoke, her voice soft and ragged.

"The sky is dark tonight. Ribbons of red cut the sunset, just as they did...when..." She trailed off into silence, a dark smile of loss twisting her countenance, and her head bowed. In the dimness I could see the crystal light of a tear on her cheek.

I wanted to go to her. To ask her what loss painted such pain on her features. But I was Edward Cullen, and would comfort no man or woman. She sought light in the darkness; I would only beckon the night in further.

"I went to the park today." Her features flickered in the candlelight. "I sat on the swing, remembering you, and I cried."

It was as if a ghost punched me in the gut. I stared at her, still hidden in my reclusive shame. Her cheeks and eyes were stained with tears shed and torn. Jealousy, unexpected and unjustified, wrenched my insides. Who does she cry for?

She spoke on, her tone but a whisper. "It is full moon again. The jasmine in our garden welcomes the night, but I cannot survive it alone." She sobbed, a broken sound and I could see the lone tear licking her cheek. "I cannot survive this alone."

Her voice broke, saltwater staining her perfection. Her voice was low, reluctant. "I hate you for leaving me. I hate that you betrayed our vow."

She hesitated once more, and her pain echoed through the cathedral's stone. A secret shame.

"I hate you for dying."

I wanted to go to her, to ask about the sadness that seemed irretrievably nestled in her eyes, to promise that if I could touch her it would be all right.

But I could not. Her pain was too raw, too wretched. And to introduce myself as a stalker...well, a slap to the face was the least I could hope for.

She kneeled there forever, supplicating herself before the deity of her devotion and loss. Eventually she stood, her hand dipping forward to caress the candle flame as one would a lover. She hissed at the burn, but did not recoil.

I felt like an uninvited voyeur, capitalising on her grief and her pain. And that is what I was. But the thought of leaving her was beyond me.

Abruptly, without a word, she whirled and stalked from the chapel, her heels clicking against the cold stone that had witnessed an eternity of guilt, devotion and righteousness.

The sky was lightening outside, dawn approaching. I could see the pastor watching her with uneasy eyes, like me scared for her soul but afraid to approach such a bleeding wound. He shifted from foot to foot, caressing the armour of his uniform.

Unlike him I had no sensibilities, no morality to stop me. As always, I would follow her and gaze upon her from the shadows.

The traffic was a distant burn. I could hear the revving of engines, smell the burn of petroleum, feel the starkness of changed gears. But it was a distant dream, for all I could see was her.

She walked home, alone. Did she have no sense of self-preservation?

Part of me wanted to jump out to her, to grasp her shoulders in a fit of violence and demonstrate the devils and the bogarts that lived in Seattle's street. It was as if she thought she was immune to modern terror. But, as I watched her, I realised that it wasn't a lack a self-preservation but rather a deficit in her soul.

She did not care that she could be lost to this world. Perhaps that was the fate she hoped for.

My heart stuttered, turning obsession into devotion. This was too much, too much to comprehend. This was dangerous, for the fallen angel and for myself.

I kneeled in the alleyway, my senses overwhelmed with the memory of brown eyes and pain and flowers. I wanted to save her.

But how could I? I cannot save myself. I can only be a spectre, haunting her from the shadows. If she knew of me should would only feel fear and revulsion.

As she should.

Yet, the scar within me compelled that I follow her. So I did, skirting her movements like a crazed, debauched stalker of the night. On occasion she would turn, searching the shadows for the unseen eyes she felt, but would always eventually move on. The triumph was bitter ashes in my mouth.

She arrived home, the guard on the door of her building gazing at her with sympathetic and sorrowing eyes. I knew from her flinch and the stiffening of her shoulders that she saw this as pity, unwelcome and unwanted.

I watched her enter, a swish of brown hair and tears. I sunk against the alley wall, fighting to calm my breathing and restore my sanity.

I wanted her.

I needed her.

My breath resolved. The moon cast pale shadows over us all and brought me back to her pale skin, so pale.

I was a selfish monster, I was damned. This girl, this woman, called to me as no other had. I should leave her be, let her face her demons alone without the aid of the devil. But I am a monster and cannot be denied.

I would have her, this woman-child.

Bella Swan.

**A/N First fanfic, so..... I hate people who beg for reviews, but yet I find myself joining their club. Please let me know what you think and whether I should continue. Constructive criticism is more than welcome ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Twilight is owned by Stephenie Meyer**

CHAPTER 2

BPOV

The night was cold and smelt of cinders.

Fireworks had been flying across the sky, their explosion greeted with a manufactured gasp of awe from the cacophony of women clinging to their menfolk in the darkness. All proclaiming, _See me, I react to light and fire and I can be seen_.

I had no one. I wanted no one.

The cathedral was the only luxury I allowed myself. The click on stone, the faint scent of incense...the greasy feeling of the desperate and the damned.

I was almost home. I could feel eyes upon me, watching my every step. As always I disregarded it - I hadn't even confessed to my therapist that I thought someone was watching me. I worried what her eyes would show when she looked at me.

The hallway was a welcome blast of warmth, the scent of roses and lillies breaking over me. The doorman, Felix, gave me his usual smile of greeting. I ignored him as always, heading to the elevator and pressing the blue-rimmed button to reach my sanctuary.

I was accosted before I'd even stepped from the lift. Rose, her steely eyes intent and her long limbs dancing, grasped me and yanked me from the elevator as if I'd melt into the ethos without her handle on my arm.

"Bella, where the fuck have you been? Jesus, Dr. Bitch's secretary told me you left her office two hours ago. I thought you'd been..."

And her voice trailed off, because even in jest she was too careful to mention anything that might trigger a breakdown within me. I appreciated her concern, but hated it in equal measures.

"I'm fine." My voice was robotic, even to me. "I went to the cathedral again."

Rose sighed, her eyes understanding but her grasp unforgiving. "Fuck, Bella. You can't drown yourself in Catholic guilt and pain forever."

"I'm not Catholic." Like that was even the point. Avoidance had always been my refuge.

Rosalie's hand twitched, and I knew she restrained herself from smacking me. Strangely, it made me feel comforted, made me feel that my current casting as the eternal victim was beginning to shatter.

Surprisingly, her voice was soft. Rose was a coil of damaging energy, devouring and feasting upon those around her, yet to me she shared some of her warmth, her compassion. I wondered how much of it stemmed for our shared horror.

"Bella, please just call me next time." She reached to the top shelf and pulled down the bottle of Jose. "I was worried."

I shrugged. What else was there to say. She poured the Cuervo with the care of a priest preparing the Holy Sacrament, slicing lime and situating rock salt on the counter. We downed the shots, licking the salt and sucking on the sharpness of the lime like it was the last handle in the inferno.

"You can't quit therapy."

My response was predictable and automatic. "Fuck that. And fuck you, Rose. You dodged therapy for five years."

"Shut up, Swan. this isn't a goddamn competition. And it's a completely different situation. You're fading. Every day you slip a little more into that dark place. It's fucking selfish and indulgent - sort your act out before you join the other junkies worshiping Grey Goose every night."

I laughed, avoiding as always. "So if I stick with the Cuervo I'm fine then? And Grey Goose is too expensive for the hobos, they tend to go for Imperial."

Rage flashed in her eyes and Rose threw the shot glass against the opposite wall, the glass shattering and spilling over the tiles. "Cut the shit. I won't stand around and watch you kill yourself."

"No one asked you to stay."

Then she grabbed me, her tight fingers gripping my upper arms and shaking me. I was more shocked by the contact than by the reaction it elicited - Rose rarely touched anyone, even me. Her armour was too thick.

"Swan, you can't push me away with your bullshit. I'm here to stay. So shut the fuck up, finish your Cuervo and I'm going back with you tomorrow to see Dr. Bitch. Okay?"

Was it okay? No. But the idea of someone fighting for me, fighting to keep me from fading...that was good. I always valued Rose in my corner.

So I said the only thing I could, even though there was so much more to say. "Okay, Rose. It's at eleven in the morning. The Bitch hates it when I'm late."

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.**

CHAPTER 3

EPOV

Two months.

Two months had passed since I had first given into my shameful addiction, since I had crossed the line and gone beyond accidental observer to full-blown stalker.

It had been raining when I first saw her, Seattle painted in a glossy grey and black by the all-too-frequent downpour. I had been huddled in the doorway of my favourite coffee shop, collar upturned and neck hunched against the cold wind.

It was the bright flash of light that first drew my attention. Across the road, my vision blurred by rain and the damp rush of cars, another flash burst through the twilight. Curious, I leaned forward and squinted.

A slender dark-haired woman sheltered from the rain in a doorway, mirroring my own position. But while I huddled from the chill wind, she was seemingly oblivious to the elements as she crouched beneath the fluttering shop canopy and...._was she taking pictures?_

She lifted the heavy black camera again, twin flashes echoing in quick succession. I could see her long pale finger tap the button, then expertly twist the lens before returning it to her eyes and capturing yet more images of Seattle, rain and twilight. What was she doing?

The beginnings of my obsession were born then, a tiny bud that would soon grow into a creepy, borderline-criminal oak tree. But she fascinated me, even though I knew nothing about her and could barely see her features. She was a petite blur of white skin with a spill of brunette, darkened by the rain. Her clothes and coat were deep hues, the only splash of colour to this waif the sharp ruby of the red scarf tucked around her neck.

She took a couple more pictures, wholly oblivious to her voyeur, then packed the camera away. Then, she just stood there; motionless, blank. I could not move away, could not tear my gaze from her figure.

Then, as abruptly as this elf entered my life, she was gone. Dashing through the rain, long hair flying behind her and arms clutching her coat tight to her. I watched her hurry and stumble away and desperately suppressed the urge to chase after her.

~*~

I saw her again a week later.

Each day since I first spotted the mystery woman I had walked the same route home from work. Not because I was hoping to see her again, but because the route was familiar and convenient.

Even though it added twenty minutes to my journey. Plus the ten minutes wasted standing in that same doorway.

I couldn't even have a convincing argument with myself.

While Jasper or Emmett had yet to notice my strange behaviour, I was almost certain Alice was watching me more closely than usual. There had been something in her eye that morning when she'd ordered that Jasper and I both wear the fedora hats she'd picked out, insisting they were only appropriate for our image as PIs. When I pointed out we were not in the 1920s nor in a film noir, her only response was to threaten with me a trench coat.

The photographer walked out of the door of the coffee shop, _my_ coffee shop, hands curled around a steaming cup of joe. Her scarf was like a ribbon of blood, her camera hanging from its bulky bag around her neck. I was thankful for the scant cover the fedora offered me now, and later wondered at the light in Alice's eye when she pressed it over my messy bronze hair.

The woman walked right by me, close enough that I could have touched her by simply raising my arm. She was beautiful, pale heart-shaped face with large liquid doe eyes and a sad mouth the colour of rose petals. But she looked like a ghost. So pale, as fragile as silk stretched over glass. Dark shadows bruised under her eyes and her expression was like one lost at sea.

As she passed her fragrance swirled around me, a synergy of spring blossoms and summer fruit and musk. I ceased breathing for a moment, head whirling as I fought to lock the scent in my lungs, in my mouth. I could taste her on my tongue. I leaned back against the wall, stunned, eyes wide and blinking. I watched her retreat down the street with the steady _click click click_ of her heels.

And so the obsession burst within me, a trickle now a raging torrent that had to be sated. I would find out who she was.

Even then I was in denial. I convinced myself I would just discover her name, then I would leave this fragile beauty alone. I would cease this decadent obsession.

That was the first night I followed her home, trailing her heavenly scent through the grime of Seattle like a vampiric bloodhound.

Three days later I knew her name. The day after I followed her to the cathedral for the first time, witnessing her pain and grief and hatred.

That same day my denial fractured and I knew I had to have her.

~*~

I awoke from my semi-stupor, thick with the memory of Bella Swan, to hear my apartment door being unlocked. Immediately recognising the light tap of stilettos accompanied by the familiar heavy tread of her partner in crime, I groaned and buried my head further into my pillows and sheets.

My bedroom door opened. The stilettos danced lightly across my floor, past the bed and to my closet without a word. I could hear the clicking of hangers and rustle of cloth as the little pixie rifled through my wardrobe.

Cautiously, I unburied my face from the pillows and looked up. Alice was ignoring me completely, my clothes her sole focus as she pulled items and outfits out and stuffed them into one of the bags she carried.

"Alice, it's six in the morning. What the hell are you doing?"

"Hunting." Her tone implied, _isn't it obvious?_

A low, warning growl. "Alice."

She giggled lightly at that, a soft tinkling of bells. An answering deep chuckle from the doorway drew my attention to Jasper, who was leaning casually against the frame as he watched his wife decimate my closet with terrifying speed. His eyes were dark and hooded as he watched her, as if her form of closet-hunting was their personal brand of foreplay.

The thought made me shudder and re-bury myself into my bed. Until...

"Edward!! What the hell is this? Why, Edward, why do you hate me so much when all I try to do is help you?"

I groaned and grumbled something incoherent that thankfully was lost in the covers before it reached the pixie's ears.

Tiny hands with the strength of the Terminator gripped my sheets and prepared to rip them from my body. "I wouldn't do that Alice," I warned, smirking, "Not unless you're desperate for a glimpse of Edward Jr."

The hands released immediately with a soft, "Ew," but then firmly yanked the covering from my face, twisting my head to meet her gaze with a sadistic grip on my ear.

"Ow, Alice! What the hell is the matter with you?"

She waved a shirt in my face. "Polyester, _that_ is what is wrong. I gave you those beautiful silk Gucci shirts last week, and you have a polyester monstrosity from Walmart sharing precious wardrobe space with them."

"It's just a shirt, Alice, not a political statement."

She scoffed. "Don't even joke about that. This is much more serious." She looked around the room with a sniff. "The rest seems to be acceptable though. You can wear the gray Italian bespoke suit with the Geiger loafers today."

"Right." Like I had any clue what she was talking about.

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes at me as if I brought home a dead rat as an anniversary gift, then prepared the outfit herself and lay it across my bed. "Now get up. Coffee and bagels are in the living room. We'll see you at the office."

"Whatever, Alice." I smirked then, relishing my petty revenge for her early morning invasion. "Besides, you're not even a real detective."

"No, not 'whatever'. And I am a real detective!" For a moment it looked like she was going to stamp her foot like a petulant child, or possibly stamp her stiletto into my head. She compromised by turning to Jasper and unleashing the devil-pout. "I am a real detective, right Jazz?"

"Of course you are, love."

I snorted at that, but ceased as soon as Alice slapped the top of my head. Ow.

Jasper spoke then, his voice low, "We need you to be in by seven forty-five. Staff meeting."

I frowned at him, surprised and slightly unsettled by this. As the agency only had one other employee outside this room our 'staff meetings' were rare and informal things, usually spontaneously conducted in one of our offices or in the bar. "Why are we having a staff meeting?"

The look Alice shot me made me gut clench. There was a dark knowledge there, but also a savage amusement.

"Oh, I think you know why, Edward."

_Shit_.

**A/N Reviewers get stalked by Fedoraward** ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.**

CHAPTER 4

BPOV

Her office was an ode of modernism, all stark lines and ambiguous crystal sculptures. A painting over her desk caught my eye, as always. It was a minimalist assortment of lines and shades, subtly suggesting at the curve of the female form.

Early on, in one our therapy sessions when I felt particularly threatened, I'd asked if she was trying to hint to her patients she was a lesbian and after my ass. Dr Bitch had just smirked and pointed out a photograph of a tall, built Native American with a laughing grin and hair past his shoulders, and told me I was too skinny to be her type.

I'd shut up after that.

"So, Bella." Dr Bitch tapped her pen against the mahogany of her desk, a regular rhythm that simultaneously soothed and aggravated me. Such a perfect complement to her words that I had to bite back a semi-hysterical snort. "You said you weren't coming back. You seemed quite sure this time."

Her words were neutral, just observing a fact. Yet I could see the glimmer in her eyes, the knowledge that I made the same proclamation after every therapy session.

"Yeah, well..." I floundered, the eloquence of an English Masters failing me utterly. I worried at the hem of my skirt. "Here I am."

Dr Bitch, also known as Leah Clearwater to her friends (not that I was convinced she had any) arched a brow at me knowingly. Too knowingly. As always, I questioned why I put myself through this torture every week.

_Because it helps you._

_Shut up!!_

First there was Dr. Roberts. A greasy, sweaty mouth-breather with an over-reliance on the most cliched of psychiatrist's tools: _but how does that make you _feel_, Bella?_ When my response had been that it made me feel like punching him in the face, by mutual agreement I'd moved on to another therapist.

Then was Dr. Anderson, whose narrowed brow and cool words disguised a lack of understanding and empathy. He'd grown impatient with me and we'd parted paths when I told him he could never understand while he still lacked a uterus.

Next was Dr. Dragonavich. It had been promising at first, but she was too nice for me, too caring and compassionate to break through my sarcastic defences. Too unwilling to just tell me to shut the fuck up and cut the bullshit.

So next came Dr. Clearwater, swiftly named Dr. Bitch. And she knew what I was, what I wanted. What I needed. There was no bullshit with her. Some days I was sure she would have no compunction with slapping me full-handed if I pushed her far enough.

Strangely, it was exactly what I needed.

Her voice drew me from my reverie. "Bella?"

"Sorry," I muttered, smoothing my skirt again. I abruptly stopped, knowing it was a nervous gesture and undoubtedly being marked on Dr. Bitch's schedule of my unease. "Rose made me come back."

"She _made_ you?" Liquid almond eyes in her coppery face challenged me.

I corrected myself. "She encouraged me."

Dr. Bitch nodded at this, as if I'd just extolled a novel update to the theory of relativity. Whatever.

"I want to talk about the cathedral, Bella."

Immediately, I froze.

"Have you been going back there?"

"No." The words sounded hollow even to me.

"You're a poor liar, Ms. Swan."

_Screw you, Dr. Bitch._

I fidgeted again. "I'm going much less now."

"How less is 'less'?"

"Twice a week. Sometimes three, if it's a...bad week."

Leah nodded, marking something on the Moleskine before her. I swear she was doodling song lyrics and pretending to write to make me nervous. I wouldn't put it past her.

"And the candles?"

I didn't respond.

"Are you still lighting the candles?"

I nodded, stiffly. This was why I wanted to quit this stupid game of twenty questions.

"You still haven't told me why. You're not Catholic, you're not religious at all. You've admitted you don't believe in prayers granting the power to pass beyond Purgatory. You've admitted you don't believe in an afterlife. And yet, you light candles endlessly."

A memory flickered_. Another black-out, the wiring in our building was frayed and waterlogged. "Lights are out again, Bells. Where did you put the matches?"_ _He shook his head, ink-black hair brushing his shoulders. "I'm guessing you forgot to get more batteries for the torch?" A low chuckle in the dark..._

I remained silent. Leah hissed in disappointment.

"Have you been going to the support group I suggested?"

I snorted at that before I could help myself. A collection of sad, crying widows and stale cookies was not what would help me through this. All I said was, "Sometimes."

"You're lying again, Bella. You really should practice deception if you're so keen to rely upon it."

I scowled at her, but my glare was a kitten's attempt before her tigress's laser gaze. I backed down first, as always. "It wasn't helping me."

"Because you won't help yourself."

I had nothing to say to that. It was true, and it echoed what Rose screamed at me every other weekend when her frayed patience eventually broke.

"Have you even cried yet?

This reinstated the scowl. Why were they obsessed with this? The lack of tears should surely be a good thing, a sign that I wasn't broken and depressed and clawing at the walls of my apartment.

Our apartment...

_No! Don't go there...._

I shut down the memory quickly and refocused on the coppery woman before me. Her voice was unusually soft as she said, "You need to cry, Bella. You need tears for them both."

We stared at each other for endless moments, blood surging beneath my skin and my heart edging up into my mouth. I honestly don't know what I would have said if I hadn't been rescued by irony. Saved by the bell.

The sharp ring of the timer on Leah's desk drew a sigh of disappointment from her, a slow gasp of relief from me. Her eyes were steely upon me as I gathered my coat and prepared to leave.

"You have to cry at some point, Bella. And if you can't tell me why candles bring you closer to him, perhaps you can confide in someone else before it tears you apart."

I had nothing more to say. I gave a shaky nod and crept from her office like a thief in the night, crawling back to Rosalie. My blonde agitator was glaring around the room, her gaze lightening when she saw me. She gripped me shoulder, wrapping my red scarf around me, and led me wordlessly from the doctor's office.

It was raining again.

**A/N Should I continue? Suggestions, criticisms, laughter - all welcome. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.**

**CHAPTER 5**

**BPOV**

Rose was uncharacteristically quiet as she marched me from Dr. Bitch's office. The mid-morning rush of traffic impeded our conversation and not a word was said until we reached Joe's Joe, our favourite coffee haunt.

We ordered blueberry pancakes and thick, dark espresso. I relished the bitterness on my palate and welcomed the subtle caffeine-related buzz as I watched Rosalie warily, waiting for the interrogation I knew was coming.

She didn't say a word.

Not a goddamn word.

Was she waiting for me to speak? Perhaps hoping the incessant silent treatment would trigger a heartfelt confession on my side? Hmm, passive-agressiveness was never Ms. Hale's style.

Yet....

I sipped my coffee, fingernails gripping into my thigh as I waited her out.

_Tick tock tick tock_.

The sun had risen fully overhead, orange whirls and ruby lines, pricking through the cloudline and treating Seattle to a rare kiss of sunshine. I briefly debated telling Rose of my most recent delusion, intensified when I was sure I was being followed as we left Dr Clearwater's office.

I grimaced as I imagined the conversation.

_Oh, by the way Rose, I think an unseen masked wanderer has been stalking me through the streets of Seattle for the last two months. I'm pretty sure he wears a fedora and flinches every time I snap my camera. Incidentally, I feel safe when I know he's following me. So what do you think?_

Hmm, maybe not.

Then I considered telling her of Dr Bitch's accusation that I had yet to cry. Not true. Tears had been shed over the past.

_But you've never _wept_, Bella, have you? You've never clung to yourself and cried for what's lost. The occasional tear slipping through the barrier simply does not count_.

Then the pancakes arrived and I tucked in, relishing the heavy thickness of carbohydrates across my tongue cut with the sweetness of the blueberries and the syrup. Still Rosalie didn't speak, merely watching me above the lip of her coffee cup withy steely eyes as I devoured the cafe's offerings.

"Okay, enough 'silent treatment', Rose. What the hell are you thinking?"

She arched a perfectly plucked blonde brow at me, her expression deceptively innocent. "Why, what do you mean, Ms. Swan?" Her inflection and tone could have been transplanted directly from Austen.

I growled.

She chuckled to herself, wiping the remnants of syrup from her lips and tucking her napkin back in her lap. Her question hit me out of left-field.

"So how's the photography going?"

I shifted in my seat, abruptly feeling as if I was back in a session with Dr. Bitch and the heat of the limelight scorching my skin. "Fine," I answered tersely.

"When is your exhibition planned for?"

Ah, the showing of my pathetic offerings. My agent had put back the date time and time again, bending to my semi-hysterical pleas ever since...it...happened. But Heidi's patience had grown short, and she had commandeered gallery space for a week on Friday and would not hear my complaints to the contrary.

"The twenty-second," I responded, hoping the brevity of my response would procure a similar reaction in her.

No such luck.

"So when can I see the photographs?"

I scowled, gulping my coffee down, relishing the burn on my tongue that cauterised all feeling away.

"It's no time to be shy, Bella. Half of Seattle will see it when Heidi hangs in for their avarice. The shock will be lessened if I see first." She paused, her eyes unusually concerned and soft. "If I help you choose."

I wanted to say no, to tell her to go to hell and she'd never see what my camera captured. But she was right - better to parade it before Rosalie before cutting my teeth on Seattle's reception.

"Fine."

Rosalie merely nodded, her self-restraint impressive. Her next question was softer, "Beyond the exhibition, are you looking for another photography job?"

I knew the root of her question. The majority of the pictures Heidi was intent on showing were taken before... Only a handful had been contributed in recent months, each drawn out painfully.

"Perhaps." I fiddled with the lip of my coffee cup. "I've been considering looking elsewhere for work, maybe a more functional position."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

We both knew it was about money. Apart from the exhibition before, which had earned both myself and Heidi a pretty penny, the insurance policy took care of my rent for the next decade. The price was about _time_.

I swallowed the pancakes, considering my words. "One where I'd be taking pictures at someone's direction, for another's purpose. I think my artistic vision is suspended for the moment."

_If not destroyed._

Rose nodded at this, taking another bite of her pancakes. "Check out the Tribune then. They advertise for photography freelance work every few weeks."

I nodded, not answering as I speared a forkful of blueberries. But the thought settled within me, making home in my psyche. A new start? There would be something liberating about simply pointing and shooting at another's direction, no ambiguity or self-doubt.

I gulped more coffee, scalding my throat. I welcomed the burn.

"I'll think about it, Rose."

~ * ~

The next morning I went out hunting for fresh landscapes and vistas.

My collection for the gallery was complete in all but name. Given my previous work there was enough material to keep Heidi off my back, but that did not sate the hunger I felt to capture the perfect picture.

Night after night I trawled the streets of Seattle, searching for that perfect moment of sublime poignancy and perfection that would reflect the tatters of my damaged soul.

I would take pictures mainly in twilight, my angle and focus purposefully random. I did this especially during the rain. The rain always made me feel closer to him, made me remember the light patter of silvery arrows that danced against my skin and washed the blood down the alleyway.

The night air smelt of petrol and dust and anonymity. Sometimes I would stand in the shadows, watching civilization scurry by as I surreptitiously stole shots of the twilight wanderers.

Other times I would simply watch, motionless. Lamenting what was lost.

I took a different route home tonight, angling away from the cathedral and the oh-so-familiar spot across the road. I strode down unfamiliar roads, breathed the sporadic scents from gardens I passes. Honeysuckle, rose, lavender. Each tormented and soothed me in equal amounts.

Then I smelt jasmine, sweet and heady in the night air.

It stopped me in my tracks, my feet stumbling over the cobblestones. A traitor tear threatened to spill, but I blinked it back. I gasped the night in.

I looked up.

A tree stood before me, skeletal in the encroaching winter, its black fingers piercing the sky around it. Mistletoe curled around its branches, forming mock birds' nests, and at its base sat...

Jasmine.

I feel as if a hand has reached into my chest cavity, squeezing my shriveling heart and attempting it to beat as a human heart should. It is a strange combination of exquisite pleasure and gripping pain.

_I touched the long-fingered white blossoms delicately, almost reverently, inhaling the heady scent. "What is it? It smells so sweet."_

_"Night-blooming jasmine," he murmured, taking me in his arms and curving my back against his chest, warmth and love swallowing me. "It only blooms and scents at night. I know how you love to watch the stars, and I thought you'd appreciate the companion."_

I lurched towards, feeling heady and almost intoxicated. With trembling fingers I unloosed my camera and readied the shot, kneeling on the frosty street and choosing my frame. A ribbon of orange sunset remained, offsetting the picture I was about to take.

_Click_.

I rose from my stance, ignorant to my ripped stockings, replacing my camera to its bag. Strangely, irrationally, I felt better. I turned and began walking home with the odd ghost of a smile on my lips.

I barely noticed the tall, messy-haired figure watching me from across the way. But before I even turned to see him clearly, he was gone.

**EPOV**

I walked into the office, Alice momentarily grinning as she realised I'd followed her advice on clothing. Then their agenda overtook her, and her expression smoothed and glowered at me.

They'd talked at me, long and endless. Starting me a slow introduction summarising the agency's current cases (_as if I did not already know_) before ever-so-subtle probing of where I was spending my free time.

I tuned out of it, imagining Bella's curls draped over my bed. I could hear her sigh, her scent intoxicating and decadent as it stained my pillow, hips bucking and eyes rolling in the night. Then Jasper's thick, meaty fingers snapped with alarmingly intensity before my vision.

_What the fuck? Are we auditioning for Jerry Springer right now?_

"What, Jazz," I grumbled, shifting defensively on my seat. Everyone was glaring at me. It was a novel position: usually Emmett was the token fuck-up. "I was listening."

_Okay, so I was definitely _not_ listening._

Alice smirked, as if she followed my internal monologue like sheet music. "What were we just talking about, then?"

_Shit,. When it doubt, revert to sarcasm_. "Sorry, honey, business is reserved for the real detectives." I smirked. "Need to know; you understand."

Alice threw a file at my head. "Ow, Alice, _crap_! What is your problem?!"

Jasper chimed in then, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "This is exactly what I'm talking about, Edward. You're not yourself anymore. You've been missing time for the past two months. Yeah you're meeting your case load, but you're still absent for long patches of time elsewhere."

"I don't need to account to you for my free time, Jazz. In fact, I don't need to account to you for _anything_. Need I remind you whose cash founded this agency?"

Jasper ignored that last barb, though his expression darkened. "What the fuck is going on, Edward? Are you seeing someone? I don't see why you're so desperate to hide it - you know we've all be rooting for you to move on since -"

"Don't even say that bitch's name," I growled.

Jasper flinched, inclining his head in the closest approximation to a 'sorry' I would get. "Your private life is your own," he acknowledged, his tone deliberately careful. "We're your friends, your family...but what you do outside the office is your own business."

Alice snorted at this, clearly skeptical that anyone could have private business that would exclude her, but the others ignored her.

"But," Jasper continued, clearly choosing his words carefully, "Your behaviour has started impacting office business."

"Like how?" I spat.

The last trace of sympathy left Jasper's face at my tone. "Like the Crowley case."

I scoffed. "That spoilt bitch had it coming. She wants us to trail her husband to trap his mistress while she bangs the gardener like a nymphomaniac on death row? Give me a break."

Emmett slammed his fist on the table, nearly buckling it beneath his anger. "That's not the point, Edward. Shit! If we were going to make moral judgments on our clients we'd all be out of business. This never used to bother you. _What is going on with you?_"

I crossed my arms, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. But Emmett wasn't done.

"You sprint out of here every night. You don't answer your phone until midnight and then you claim you're tired with no mention of where the hell you've been. You're _always_ tired, brooding worse than usual and you sometimes stare at your computer like its a demon about to attack you."

The last comment made me flinch slightly. Ever since I learnt Bella's name I'd fought an endless battle with myself. The red-horned avatar on my shoulder enticed me to put her name into the system, to discover her past and her secrets and find out what made her shiver in a cathedral in the early hours of the morning.

I'd compromised with my angelic traveler, convincing myself that if I confined my actions to straightforward stalking (_ah, the hypocrisy_) and omitted computer digging from my actions, it was somehow okay.

Emmett's tone softened slightly. "We just want to know what's going on with you, man. We just want to help."

Three pairs of concerned eyes pinned me to my chair.

"_Nothing_ is going on with me." I snarled. Lies, all lies. "So why don't you all mind your goddamn business and find another hobby beyond pissing me off. How is that for an office strategy, hmm?"

The three pairs of eyes were now shocked. Sarcastic, superior and subversive they were accustomed to...but outright hostility? Less so. I cursed myself, knowing that not only had I hurt then but I'd also raised their suspicion levels further.

_Shit._

"Yes, Edward, congratulations." Pixie sounded pissed, yet unsurprised. "We're all now much more suspicious. Your deflection tactics have flopped, so just give it up already."

_Creepy, psychic pixie_. _Would Jasper really miss her if -_

"Yes he would!"

Seriously_ creepy_. _How the hell does she know all this shit?_

A charged and heavy silence crept between us all. Jasper leaned against the doorway, long and blond and leonine, his eyes never shifting from Alice's figure by the desk. Emmett sat in the lone office chair, his usual joviality replaced with concern and confusion, eyes burrowing into me as if they could read the letters of my betrayal under my skin.

And Alice. Ah, Alice.

She had barely moved since I had came into the office. Thin limbs and furrowed brow, spiked hair and steel eyes. Eyes that had not left me since I arrived.

Eyes that I shifted uncomfortably before, for they were eyes that knew too much. What would she challenge me with now?

I waited, tension thicker than syrup. Then...

"Okay."

Jasper didn't react other than to automatically agree; he was too in tune with his wife to variate from her. To disagree with her. His trust was simultaneously humbling and horrifying.

But Emmett scowled dangerously and whipped his head around. "What the fuck?"

"It's fine, Emmett," Alice spoke. Lowly, dangerously. Firmly. "We'll leave it for now. If Edward has a new hobby, I'm sure he'll reveal it in time."

_Too easy. Way to easy. What was Madame Meg the Pixie up to now?_

The rest of the office grumbled their acquiescence, shooting me irritated glares but unwilling to bet against Alice. My relief was such that I barely noticed her next sentence.

"...interviews next week. I already put the advertisement in the Tribune, so hopefully the position will be filled within a few days. Everyone okay with that?"

Jane had been fired a few days ago, so I assumed the position was for another admin assistant. I murmured my agreement with Jasper and Emmett.

"Excellent," Alice said, grinning. "I'll be interviewing in the next couple of days."

As she spoke she caught my eye, an unsettling level of knowledge and smug satisfaction there. What was she planning?

Trying to dispel the unease, I headed out on the pretense of getting fresh coffee, ignoring the Columbian bean blend in the freezer.

It was just past nine. I knew Bella would be buying bagels now.

I could feel Alice's laser glare waxing my back as I fled the office.

~ * ~

**BPOV**

"Mrs. Black?"

The name tore me. I gulped. By some miracle my voice was even as I replied, "It's Ms. Swan, actually."

"Ah." The single syllable spoke volumes. Embarrassed and haltingly attempting sympathy without pity; he failed.

"Ms. Swan, this is Detective Parker with the Seattle PD." He half-coughed, gulping audibly. "Yours and your...husband's case were assigned to me."

There was a pause. What did he expect me to say? _Thanks for the homicide?_ I said nothing.

"Well," he stuttered, clearly uncomfortable. I suddenly realised from his tone and inflection how young he was. "There's been a new development in the case. We believe we've identified both assailants from that night."

I'd expected to feel elated, free, euphoric - but all I said was, "Oh?"

"The DNA sample taken from your husband's...um, person, was matched to a recent arrest in New York of a James Hunter. From your statement and the forensics we are certain that he was the one who fired the gun, and so the DA's office is in the process of getting jurisdiction to indict him for first degree murder in Washington."

I felt oddly numb and my voice was too calm when I asked, "And the other man?"

I heard him swallow, could almost visualise his Adam's apple bobbing down his neck. "The gun used by Hunter was traced to a man named Laurent Vandir, who we believe was the other man from that night. He was a known associate of James Hunter and known to the police for a history of drug use and petty theft before he -"

"Where is he now?"

Dt. Parker paused, and once again I heard the thick glug of saliva as he gulped his nerves down. Ah, the stress of dealing with an irrational and temperamental widow.

"Ms. Swan, it appears that Laurent Vandir is now....deceased."

Dead.

He's dead.

Dt. Parker continued speaking. "From what we've determined, it looks like he died the night of the attack. While fleeing the scene he was hit by a car and never regained consciousness. His life support was cut a week later."

I couldn't speak.

I remembered the blood, so warm along my legs as I held him. The trickle of his life meeting the life fleeing down my thigh in the aftermath.

Blood is so close to skin temperature that the wetness is all you can feel. I remember that knowledge as I cradled my Jake and waited for the ambulance that would never save him. Never save us.

And now I knew it was all for naught. A petty crime, meaningless and empty. A theft destroyed and pointless within minutes of its conception.

I hung up the phone without speaking.

It started to rain again.

~ * ~

After receiving the phone call from Dt. Parker I felt numb. There was no moment of epiphany, the absolution of closure still escaped me.

The detective's words haunted me, taunted me.

He'd died in a car accident. So random, so futile. The thirty bucks he'd taken from us when he stole our lives hadn't even bought him an evening of ecstasy. Instead, he'd ran into the road and his life had been dashed out on the cold streets. Just as he'd destroyed me.

In a way it was worse than if the attack had been the result of a long-carried grudge; at least then there would be some emotion and release. But the confirmation that it was simply pure randomness that produced those events, that shattered me and left me bereft.

I felt emptier than I had before.

My phone vibrated against my thigh, thrill and demanding. I knew without looking it was Rosalie's name on the caller ID. I ignored it, stumbling out from the cathedral and heading to the first fluorescent-lit sign I encountered.

_Jeff's Bar._

I stalked through the door, my eyes targeting the bar like a robotic missile. I slipped onto a bar stool, oblivious to the predatory stares around me. The bartender approached, brow arched as he took in my ragged expression, but all he said was, "What are you drinking?"

"Cuervo." My voice was harsh, throaty and almost unrecognisable. "Straight up."

He didn't say a word as he poured two shots, but watched me semi-discretely from the corner of his eye. I knocked back the first shot without hesitation. Wordlessly, he pushed the second glass to me and I devoured that too.

Our eyes met. He still didn't speak, only pouring another shot and sliding across the counter to me. I closed my eyes and the detective's words scratched over my brain. I downed the harsh liquor, relishing the burn and welcoming the oblivion.

"Keep them coming."

Again, he didn't speak, only arched a brow. He reached beneath the counter and pulled out five shot glasses, filling them with a dishevelled style that left ribbons of alcohol dripping across the bar.

All he said was, "You know where I am." He walked away, leaving me to my debauchery.

I welcomed the abandonment, gulping breaths greedily as I forced shot after shot down my lips. The bar stank of cigarettes and loneliness and desperation. When I finished the shots I searched my purse for the bottle of Xanex. Blearily, for the alcohol was thickening my movements, I swallowed three tablets with a tequila chaser.

Time slowed and flowed through me like dark, viscous syrup. Shivers and shudders ghosted over my cheekbones. The burn of the alcohol settled in my stomach, tickling my lower belly and making the ends of my hair tingle. My fingertips were numb as I nodded harshly as the bar tender, who silently poured me more spirit.

My phone buzzed once more. Rosalie. I ignored it.

I had nothing left to say.

The edges of my vision were growing more hazy. In a brief, unexpected moment of clarity I wondered how I would find my way back home, but then had to choke back the bitter sob in my throat.

_Home?_

There was no home for me.

Not anymore. Perhaps not ever.

I drank and I drank. I smoked cigarettes purloined from opportunist patrons who gambled their luck before they were thankfully scared off by the barman's dark glares. I coughed from the unfamiliar tar in my lungs.

And I drank more.

Eventually, my vision was reduced to a pinprick and I knew I needed to leave. I rose from my bar stool, staggering slightly and gripping the counter for balance.

The bar man was there then, eyes narrowed as he steadied my shoulders with his hand. Despite my extreme level of intoxication I was not afraid of him - the look behind his eyes did not speak of lust or desire, but rather a grimace of saddened recognition. As if he knew who and what I was.

"Let me call you a cab." He paused, and I knew how much the extra word cost him, "Please."

I just shook my head. I would walk home. Stupid and irrational? _Yes_. Dangerous and possibly symptomatic of my pathological absence of self-preservation? _Perhaps_.

But I would walk home. I would put my fate in the hands of the night, and what would happen would happen. The fates will take me and I will dance in their despair.

He watched me go with a concerned frown, but was insightful enough to know I would not be dissuaded.

He recognised our mutual pain.

He abandoned me to the night as quickly as I abandoned myself. I staggered through the streets, bleary gaze following familiar landmarks home, fingers tracing rough bricks, wondering if I would make it.

Hoping that I would.

Yet half-hoping I would not. That the night would swallow me too.

~ * ~

**A/N Despite the story alerts, I'm not getting much response to this fic. Should I continue? **

**I'd love to hear what you think, even if it's only brief and lacking inspiration. Please review!**

**Reviewers get cuddled from Stalkward and swallowed into the night.**

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.**

**Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far and who's added me to their story/favourite alerts. Can't tell you how much it makes my day :D**

**CHAPTER SIX**

_**Previously (BPOV)**_

_The barman watched me go with a concerned frown, but was insightful enough to know I would not be dissuaded._

_He recognised our mutual pain._

_He abandoned me to the night as quickly as I abandoned myself. I staggered through the streets, bleary gaze following familiar landmarks home, fingers tracing rough bricks, wondering if I would make it._

_Hoping that I would._

_Yet half-hoping I would not. That the night would swallow me too._

**~ * ~**

**EPOV**

I'd fled the office as soon as the clock hit eight, feeling their eyes following me as I grabbed my coat and fedora and bolted. The tension in the office had been thick since our 'meeting' yesterday. My brief disappearance later that day to watch Bella buy her morning bagels had really not gone down well.

After seeing her disappear around the corner with her back of baked goods, I had hurried back to the office and arrived before ten. But then when I vanished again just before eleven, muttering vaguely of an early lunch meeting, Emmett had actually growled and hit his desk so hard the leg nearly buckled.

I ignored them all and dashed across town to Dr. Clearwater's office, needing to check that Bella was still attending her weekly therapy sessions. The week before she'd had fury painted across her features when she'd ran from the office and had been half-screaming into her phone that she was never going back.

Thankfully, I arrived yesterday just in time to see my brown-eyed seraphim disappear into Dr. Clearwater's building alongside her statuesque blonde roommate. Even though Bella left many of these session rawer than before she went in, I'd noticed that since she'd begun attending she looked peaceful more and more frequently.

_Obsession, thy name is Cullen._

I had a missed call from Emmett and three missed calls from Jasper while I paced up and down the street, waiting for her. Bella and her friend emerged just over an hour later and headed toward the coffee shop; what my twisted mind had now begun to refer to as _our_ coffee shop.

_Jesus, and you think Bella needs therapy..._

I watched her go from down the street, my fedora tilted to shelter my face from the rain. Bella's head was down, carefully watching the pavement to avoid trips, but halfway down the road she suddenly looked up and whirled to face me, squinting down the street to where I stood.

_Fuck!_

I darted into a shop doorway, heart thudding. _Did she see me?_

The old woman behind the counter glared at me suspiciously, but whether it was due to the clear aura of guilt emanating from me or the puddle of rainwater growing at my feet on her floor was unclear. I waited a moment, shuffling my feet like a schoolboy nervous of receiving a scolding, before I mumbled an apology and ducked back out into the rain.

Thankfully Bella and her friend were now gone. I didn't think she'd seen me, but the possibility made my gut churn. It wasn't the first time I'd contemplated just what I'd say if she caught me watching her, following her. I honestly did not know what Bella's reaction would be, but I had no doubt her blonde hard-faced roommate would have no compunction knocking me on my ass.

I jogged through the streets, heading back to the office and away from my almost-discovery as quickly as I could. I hung my coat and hat on the rack, carefully ignoring the three pairs of eyes burning holes into my jacket. It was at times like these I regretted surrounding myself with private detectives.

Jasper was wary with newly-awakened suspicion, and an ever-growing sense of hostility towards me. It was understandable for we did not keep secrets from one another; or at least we had not before. He'd been a cop in the NYPD for over five years and was a fucking walking human lie-detector.

Alice, with her uncanny perception and her indefinable look of knowing sympathy, stared at me too often these days and I could almost see the wheels in her brain ticking out of control. Perhaps the paranoia was getting to me, but a few times when I'd set off to locate Bella I'd find myself checking to see if I'd acquired my very own pixie-sized stalker.

And Emmett: the most uncomplicated of our group, yet his brawn hides an unexpected intelligence and empathy. Of all the four, it was likely we were the closest due to our shared experiences and ink; we'd served as Marines in the same unit for three years. He met my gaze with a scowl that somehow remained sympathetic, wordlessly telling me that while he was growing impatience with my behaviour he knew me well enough to read between the lines. That he knew the pain of being cupid's bitch.

The rest of the day of the meeting had passed with tortuous slowness. I'd interviewed a couple of new clients, both run-of-the-mill suspected spousal infidelity that Alice and her long-lensed camera would be investigating.

After several inventive physical threats from Jasper and Emmett I had also called Mrs. Crowley to apologise through gritted teeth for implying she was a whore. Even though she was. She had swiftly accepted my apology and then positively purred as she asked me to come to her home for a private consult. I declined.

The clock had hit five and I'd wordlessly gathered my belongings and left the office without meeting anyone's gaze, determined to stay longer tomorrow if only to confound their theories of my recent behaviour.

I had watched Bella take picture after picture in the streets, finally stopping before a half-skeletal tree lit like something from the Underworld against a blaze of orange sunset. Bella had touched the tiny white flowers growing at its trunk and looked as if her heart would break.

She'd taken a few pictures, uncaring that her hose was torn and ruined from kneeling on the stone. Then I'd followed her home, sighing in relief once she was safe and locked in her building.

**~ * ~**

Today the clock ticked to five and I knew all three of them watched me, waiting for me to follow my usual pattern of running tight-lipped from my desk. Determined to demonstrate my normalcy and assuage their suspicions, I deliberately did not look at the clock and kept my head down, continuing to work on the Crowley paperwork.

Jaw clenched, muscles burning with the effort, I sat there for three more hours and updated all the files I'd done in the last two months. The other three all stayed too, their skepticism palpable as I gripped my pen with enough force that shortly after half-past-seven it snapped in two.

Wordlessly, Emmett handed me another pen. I nodded tersely and returned my gaze to my desk. By now Jasper and Alice were not even pretending to work; they were openly watching me.

_Ah, the irony._

The clock chimed eight and I sprung to life, tired of the pretense which was so clearly not working. I seized my hat and coat and left without a word.

I needed to find Bella.

**~ * ~**

I hurried to the cathedral, my step quickened to the point where I was practically running. I needed to see Bella, know she was safe.

The sun had almost set by the time I rounded the corner. and spied the gothic arches and spire. I could hear the soft reverence of the organ music from a block away, piercing the night with solemnity and the memory of childhood's forced Sunday attendance. For a moment my fingers twitched, aching to touch long-forgotten piano keys...

As soon as I entered the doors the familiar scent of incense and guilt slammed into me with the force of a Mack truck. The pastor stood at the front of the church, talking in hushed tones to a gnarled, aged woman in a black hat.

A young man sat two rows from the front, head bent, eyes closed and lips quivering. A matron occupied the left front pew; her hands were clasped and her thumbs ran over each other in a futile war as she stared sightlessly towards the alter. Her rosary clicked like a demonic record of my sins.

The row of candles was unoccupied, only three in the line lit and each of those more than half-burned down, melting into ivory wax and dripping down the stone.

_There was no Bella here._

I momentarily debated asking the priest if he'd seen my dark-haired angel this night, but I knew his patience with me was already thin. My shadow-hugging had already inspired suspicion from him and I feared triggering a reaction that might make my presence here openly unwelcome.

Leaving the cathedral I felt empty, drained. A pierced balloon dripping like wax onto the pavement.

_Where did she go?_

**~ * ~**

Sometimes when I would think about Bella I would picture her in her teenage years, before her sadness had conquered her. I would imagine her sitting cross-legged on dirty carpets at friends' houses, eating ice cream and giggling over school gossip and boys.

I would picture her wide-eyed in the cinema, blushing as she shared sticky popcorn and stale soda with her date. I could almost see her shyly hugging the wall at her first high school dance, the scent of illicit alcohol and hormonal desperation thick in the air, blushing at the lusty stares of the boys among her.

How did she look when she brought her first date home to meet her father? Did she blush and duck her head, avoiding the attention, or did she meet his gaze steadily and stake her claim to her choice?

The jealousy of contemplating such thoughts - _of other men! _- nearly overwhelmed me, but I couldn't help but hope that in her dark past there had been spots of hope and joy and innocent pleasure.

**~ * ~**

I sat on the steps outside the cathedral, stewing in self-pity. The rare moment of reflection allowed me to truly feel the depth of my shame for my recent actions: I was basically stalking an innocent young woman.

What would she do if she knew? She'd be terrified, sickened. Disgusted.

I thought of the few past clients we'd had who'd come to us for protection from unwanted stalkers, the fear in their eyes as they described the invasion into their privacy and peace-of-mind. I'd sat there and sympathised, condemned them before tracking them down and solving the problem.

And here I was, fully qualified to join their ranks. The irony was a bitter pill.

I needed a drink.

The bright fluorescence from down the street drew my eyes: _Jeff's Bar_. The entrance and sign told me all I needed to know: an anonymous watering hole which welcomed the lost and the desperate. I could almost smell the stale liquor and cigarettes from here.

The stench overwhelmed me when I walked into the bar, but I welcomed it. The long low-lit room held a handful of dingy tables and chairs, occupied by even dingier patrons. Sallow eyes followed me as I walked to the bar at the end of the room and claimed a stool.

The barman merely arched a brow at me, awaiting my order. This wasn't a conversational type of place.

"Cuervo. Straight up."

He paused at this, giving me a puzzled look I didn't understand, but then slammed a shot glass down and filled it up. I downed it, and gestured for the same again. He complied, but the line between his brow was now even more pronounced.

The alcohol burned my throat and I leaned my elbows on the bar, ignoring Alice's voice in the back of my head that screamed about Italian silk on unwashed public surfaces. I leaned forward, resting my head on my elbows.

That's when I saw it.

A flash of vibrant red wool spilled like a ribbon of blood across the black, sticky barroom floor.

Impossible.

I jumped from the barstool and picked the scarf up with trembling fingers, relishing the silky feel of the wool that my hands had longed to touch for months now. The shade was unmistakable, but how many women in Seattle must own red scarves...?

_How many women in Seattle haunt the cathedral down the road with this _exact_ colour of scarf?_

I ran the soft cashmere through my hands, my over-exposure to Alice telling me that the garment was expensive enough to be unusual in a dive such as this. I brought the scarf to my face and inhaled, noting the tinge of alcohol and cigarettes but beneath it was the intense floral fragrance of spring and summer berries. _Her scent_. The coincidence was too great to avoid.

I looked up to catch the barman's attention, to find him staring at me with a furrowed brow. It was as if he knew what I was going to ask.

"The woman," I began, unsure how to phrase it. "The woman who dropped this scarf - what did she look like?"

He arched a brow at me and tilted his head. "Why do you want to know?"

Anger simmered below my voice. _I didn't have time for this!_ "Did she tell you her name? Did she say her name was Bella?"

"She didn't tell me her name."

"Brunette, brown-eyes?" I barked out.

He scoffed. "You could be describing two-thirds of the women in this city."

"Beautiful. Pale skin, very pale like the snow. Black pea-coat. Hair almost to her waist, curling slightly. Sad eyes."

The barman's face softened slightly. "Yeah, she was here. Ordered the same drink as you too."

My heart began to pound. She'd been drinking, and she'd left her scarf behind...one thing I'd learned my observations was that she was meticulous, not the type to forget her belongings.

"How much did she drink? When did she leave?!" My voice was getting more agitated; where the hell was she? _Was she okay?_

His eyes were weighing me up, but more sympathetically now. "No offence, bro, but how do I know you weren't the one that sent her in here, that made her look so sad?"

"Fuck! I know you're trying to look out for her, but I can assure you if she was sad it had _nothing_ to do with me. Now please, I just want to know if she's safe, if she got home okay. It's not like her to leave her scarf behind." I curled my fists, restraining the impulse to leap over the bar and shake my answers from him. "_Please_."

He sighed, and leaned forward onto the bar, resting his weight onto the balls of his hands. "She was here, for about an hour and a half. Drunk a shit-load of Cuervo, maybe took a couple of Xanex too." I must have looked quizzical, because he explained, "I recognised the bottle."

"Did she get a cab?"

He looked a little guilty then, but defiant. "No. I tried to get her to... But she refused and she wouldn't be told otherwise. Stubborn woman."

My hands started to shake, the muscles in my forearms rippling and tightening with the tension. The rage in my face must have been clear because the guy behind the bar took a couple of steps back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

"You let her walk home, _alone_, drunk off her tits and high on pills? _Are you fucking crazy?_"

"Look, man, this is bar not a fucking treatment centre. She's a grown woman and was pretty damn clear that she wasn't getting in a cab. What did you want me to do, knock her out and stuff her in the backseat myself?!"

_Yes, you stupid prick!_

I swallowed my anger, but a growl reverberated in my chest. The barman was starting to look scared now, feeling below the counter for what was undoubtedly some sort of weapon.

"When did she leave?"

"About five minutes before you came in. She turned right, heading toward twenty-second street." He didn't meet my eyes. "Sorry, man."

I threw a twenty on the counter, grabbed her scarf and stalked out without saying another word. If I heard one more syllable from that stupid son of a bitch I wouldn't be able to stop myself from pounding his face into the bar, gun or no gun.

**~ * ~**

I ran down the street like a madman. She'd gone right, heading towards her apartment...I hoped. It was at times like this I regretted not taking my invasion of her privacy even further and illicitly getting her cellphone number. Although, even if I had it, what the hell would I say to her?

_Um, hello, Bella. This is Edward, your stalker. I came to follow you around after work tonight and couldn't find you, but the barman said you were headed home. Just wanted to check you were okay. Well, bye._

Hmm, maybe not.

Then I saw her.

On the left-side of the road ahead of me she was stumbling down the street, her steps unsteady and her hair in a tangled mess around her face. One hand clung to the exposed brickwork as she traced the walls to mirror her steps down the street.

_Shit, how drunk is she?_

I hurried down the street after her, my anger and concern bursting so brightly I worried they would shatter the bulbs of the street lights around us. _What the hell was she thinking?_ A disheveled angel staggering through the back streets of Seattle in the middle of the night was sure to attract the wrong kind of attention.

I moved closer to her than I usually would. Her intoxication made me bold.

I brush her shoulder lightly, whispering her name so low she wouldn't hear me; I didn't want her to remember in the morning that the stranger who approached her had known her name.

Then I spoke louder, "Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?"

She paused and turned to face me, the movement nearly upsetting her balance. I caught her arm, steadying her as she stumbled, and the contact sparked a pulse of electric light through my skin, the energy so strong I thought that at any moment we would both begin to glow.

I knew she felt it too, her gasp audible and overly-dilated eyes widening as she locked with mine. Her mouth was parted, her bow-like lips soft. She looked drunk and sleepy and unkempt, but she was more beautiful than I had ever seen for her in that moment she looked _alive_.

Tentatively, eyes wide in wonder, she reached out and touched my cheekbone. The energy jumped between us once again, webs of electricity shivering over our skin and we both shuddered with it.

Her voice was soft and musical, "You're beautiful." She traced my face with soft feathery fingers and I shivered at the contact, the warmth. "Who _are_ you?"

My mouth was dry, I didn't know what to say to her. Before I could answer she stumbled forward, her eyes rolling back into her head as she collapsed in a boneless slump into my arms.

Just then, it began to rain.

**~ * ~**

**A/N Review review review! Will make me update quicker and will make Stalkward (and me) very happy ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Please please click the button at the end and let me know how you think I'm doing.**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_**Previously (EPOV)**_

_I knew she felt it too, her gasp audible and overly-dilated eyes widening as she locked with mine. Her mouth was parted, her bow-like lips soft. She looked drunk and sleepy and unkempt, but she was more beautiful than I had ever seen for her in that moment she looked _alive_._

_Tentatively, eyes wide in wonder, she reached out and touched my cheekbone. The energy jumped between us once again, webs of electricity shivering over our skin and we both shuddered with it._

_Her voice was soft and musical, "You're beautiful." She traced my face with soft feathery fingers and I shivered at the contact, the warmth. "Who _are_ you?"_

_My mouth was dry, I didn't know what to say to her. Before I could answer she stumbled forward, her eyes rolling back into her head as she collapsed in a boneless slump into my arms._

_Just then, it began to rain._

**~ * ~**

**EPOV**

I strode through the nighttime streets of Seattle with my angel cradled in my arms, shielding her as best I could from the pouring rain. Despite the cold and dark, I felt like I was flying, like I was reborn. The rain running down my face cleansed me, baptised me, made me feel free and forgiven.

Bella was smiling in my arms, and each time I glanced down to see the soft curl of her lips and her smooth brow my heart soared even more. The contact between us sent a permanent web of electronic energy across me, buzzing and shivering as I carried her to her home.

_Was that was making her smile? Even in sleep, did she feel it too?_

Her apartment was within walking distance of the cathedral and the bar, and we arrived there in no time. Deft manoeuvring allowed me to retrieve her keys from her coat pocket and unlock the building door without displacing her from my arms. I said a silent prayer of gratitude that for whatever reason the usual guard in the foyer was absent tonight.

I waited at the elevators, gazing down at my seraphim. Her head was cradled into my collarbone, her damp curls tickling my chin and clinging to her skin. Her hands were curled childlike under my jacket, as if even while unconscious she huddled into my warmth.

The elevator gave a soft _ding!_ and I ducked through the door, pressing the button for her floor, thankful that I knew her address. As the elevator ascended the peculiar high I'd experienced while carrying my lady home began to ebb away and was replaced by concern. I would hand her over to her Amazonian roommate to care for her, but what the fuck was I going to say?

How could I possibly explain that I knew where she lived, not only the building but her floor and apartment number? The blonde would be suspicious. I decided to tell her that I'd found Bella nearby, she'd been able to tell me her address before passing out. Surely the amount of alcohol she'd imbibed would make her loathe to rely on her own memory.

Right? _Shit. I'm dead._

I arrived at their apartment door and pressed the door, smoothing my expression into what I desperately hoped was suitably non-stalkerish. I waited a couple of minutes, then rang the bell again, frowning.

No answer.

I braced Bella in my arms, dazed for a moment as the movement of her hair sent a fresh bouquet of her perfumed scent over me, then recovered and fished her keys once again from her pocket. Cautiously, I let myself into the apartment and flicked the light switch on.

I called loudly, making my presence known. The brief few glimpses of the blonde Bella lived with gave me no doubt that she was the type to swing a baseball bat at intruders first and ask questions later. I announced myself again, wondering if she was asleep already. I glanced at the clock and it was still an hour before midnight.

I carefully laid Bella on the coach, scouting through the apartment and calling as I went. I entered the kitchen and saw a sheet of paper stuck to the fridge with a handbag-shaped magnet, covered in elegant yet sharp writing.

_B,_

_Got caught up late at the conference centre at work. Will just crash at the hotel tonight, be back at lunchtime tomorrow._

_R._

I was elated that the roommate would not be here, thankful that awkward questions would be avoided. My gratitude vanished the second I rejoined my angel and realised that she was soaked through to the bone from the rain, her skin cold and chill. Her lips were now tinged every so slightly blue. I couldn't just leave her in soaked clothes, she could get hypothermia.

I wanted to scream. The impossible situation I was in, graced with the perfect valid excuse to touch her and undress her and give in to my perverted horrifying nature. _What the fuck was I going to do?!_

For a moment I seriously contemplated calling Alice, but imagining her reaction and the yelling that would follow was too daunting. She would tell Jasper, who would tell Emmett, who would beat the shit out of me. And then Alice would throw things at my head.

I decided to just take off her outer clothes and just...just go from there.

I stood there, compulsively running my hands through my wet hair like a madman. God, if she awoke now she would be terrified beyond belief. Muttering to myself, I knelt next to her and prayed that she wouldn't awaken while I was doing this, while also praying that she would so the shameful choice could be taken from me.

Reverently, I unfastened the belt of her black peacoat and carefully eased her arms from it, lifting her from the coach to remove it from her petite frame. She didn't stir at all. Underneath she wore a dark blue V-neck sweater, the colour perfectly complementing the creaminess of her skin. The monster within me crept trembling fingers to trace her collarbones, but the cold temperature of her skin returned my senses to me in a thunderclap.

_Get a fucking grip! You're doing this so she doesn't get hypothermia, not so you can grope her while she's unconscious_.

Right. Focus.

The sweater was soaked through and sodden, cold as ice. I lifted it slightly and nearly fell over with joy when I realised she wore a thin tank top underneath that would preserve her modesty and perhaps my sanity. More easily now I carefully raised the garment over her head and pulled her arms through. The tank top was slightly damp but dry enough to leave on.

She was beginning to shiver now. I went in search of blankets, opening a few random cupboards in the hallway until I found what I was looking for. I returned to her side and tenderly cocooned her in the thick woolen blanket, praying it would warm her soon and return some colour to her cheeks.

I unzipped her black ankle boots and slipped them off her feet, peeling off her rain-soaked socks to reveal delicate toes painted a soft coral colour. Then I unfastened the dark grey slacks she was wearing, feeling like a complete pervert as I carefully lifted her hips so I could take her trousers off, pulling them down her legs.

Then when I glimpsed her panties I was nearly undone. I shot to my feet, turning my back and taking deep breathes in an effort to calm myself and the monster within. _Jesus, Cullen, do _not_ get excited right now, no matter how lacy and blue her underwear might be_... _Calm the fuck down_.

Then I wondered if the bra matched, and the blood rushed back down to my groin.

God, there is a special place in hell reserved for monsters like me. I was repulsed by myself. How was I any better than some sick peeping tom? I _wasn't_ any better. I was much, much worse.

Carefully averting her eyes to the neutrality of her blanket covered shoulder, I lifted her and rearranged the blanket so that it covered her entire body from neck to toes. I then headed down the hall towards the bedrooms, guessing immediately that the one on the right was hers. It was decorated in soft blues and grey, clean lines and the surfaces uncluttered. By contrast the other room was more vibrant and cluttered, the walls magenta and the vanity case covered in a multitude of beauty products and make-up.

As I laid her down into the bed, tucking the sheets around her already blanket-wrapped form, she shivered and muttered something. I froze, praying she would not awake and see me wide-eyed and frazzled inches above her prone half-stripped form. But her eyes remained closed and I sighed in relief.

Then she whispered something about bagels, the rest of the words incoherent mumblings. _Did she just...does she talk in her sleep?_

Oh, fuck. My curiosity was uncontrollable, overpowering my self-disgust. The lure of those unprotected, unconsciously spoken words was impossibly tempting.

I stood by her bed, motionless, waiting, _praying_, for her to speak. She did, but much of it was meaningless or incoherent drivel. My conscience had re-emerged and nearly persuaded me to leave my shameful vigil when I heard it.

Her voice was soft, breathy, so melodic I could drown in it. "_So beautiful...green eyes..._" Then, even softer, "_Who...are you?_"

I froze, my heart barely beating. I was so sure she was speaking of me, that was the exact question she'd posed before fainting into my arms. _She was dreaming of me!_

I watched her for a few moments more, a smile on a my face. As light as a feather I ghosted my fingertips over her forehead, my heart soaring when the lines in the brow smoothed out and her lips curled once again in a sleepy smile. She whispered, "_green eyes_..." and I thought my chest would burst.

I darted back into the living room, gathering her sodden clothes in a whirlwind and setting them out to dry on radiators in her room and the hall. I draped her red scarf over a chair in her room. Then I fished a packet of aspirin from their medicine cabinet, placing a couple on her bedside table with a glass of water.

I deliberated over whether I should leave a note, but when inspiration failed me on what to say, on how to _possibly_ explain, I decided against it. I watched for a little more, relishing each soft breath and dart of her closed eyes as she dreamt.

Then I slipped from her apartment like a shadow, locking the door behind me and disappearing once more into the night, the scent of my angel lingering around me.

**~ * ~**

**BPOV**

I woke slowly, a vague memory of startling emerald eyes and rain enveloping me as I rose gradually to consciousness. I felt oddly buoyant, warm and safe in a cocoon of soft wool.

I blinked my eyes open, confused. The pain and sick dizziness of my headache hit me then, my eyes and mouth feeling dry and abused. I groaned softly, sitting up and blinking around the room before I checked the clock: just after seven a.m.

I tried to remember what had happened last night. I remembered the phone call, the dank mustiness of the bar and the Cuervo. Ugh, god, the Cuervo. No wonder I felt like shit.

_How the hell did I get home?_ I glanced down at myself, puzzled as to why I was wrapped in a blanket still wearing my tank top and panties. I struggled out of my secure cocoon and stumbled across the room, touching my black trousers carefully laid on the radiator.

Still damp. I must have got soaked through in the rain last night and Rose helped me out of them. I owed her one big time - doubtless I would have just left them in a sodden mess on the carpet.

Then I spied the aspirin and water on my night stand and my gratitude to Rosalie swelled even more. _What would I do without that girl?_

I gulped down the water greedily, swallowed the aspirin and then crawled back into bed, not yet ready to face the world. As sleep swallowed me down once again, there was a smile on my lips as I made a mental note to thank Rose for taking care of me.

**~ * ~**

_I threw open the front door with a grin and then winced as the door crashed into the wall with a loud bang, my over-exuberance at escaping the rain leaving a slight dent in the drywall. Oops._

_"Honey, I'm home!" I called to the apartment. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was here. I'd always been able to sense his proximity, like the warmth of the sun on my skin or the comforting and familiar scent of home._

_That made me smile. Home. _Our_ home._

_I shook the rain from my hair and hung my coat onto the hat stand to dry, dropping my bag and umbrella in the entrance way to deal with later._

_"Jake?"_

_"In here, Bells!" His loud booming voice echoed through the apartment, and I found myself grinning again. That lovesick, sappy smile that never failed to make Rosalie roll her eyes._

_I dashed across the hall to the living room, nearly slipping on her carpet but catching myself at the door frame. The light was off but the soft glimmer of candlelight flickered along the walls, illuminating the picnic blanket and plates of food on the floor. I saw brie, grapes and baguettes, as well as a plate of strawberries. I started laughing when I saw the marshmallows, Graham crackers and cubes of chocolate: he was making s'mores._

_"S'mores, Jake? With brie?" I sniggered to myself as he approached me, dropping a kiss on my lips as he twirled my wet hair around his finger, his other hand pushing the stem of a wine glass into mine._

_"Yes, Bella. S'mores." He grinned, affecting a mock English accent, "They complement the the dusky tones and blackberry goodness of the '86 Pinot Noir perfectly."_

_I laughed, the humour and love dancing in his eyes setting my skin aflame. His face softened and he stroked the line of my cheekbone, sending a shiver through me. He sat on the floor, pulling me down with him to lean back against his chest in the circle of his arms. I giggled as he nearly spilled the wine glass in my hand._

_"So what do you want first, Bells?" He picked up a grape and a salty, creamy sube of brie and popped them both in my mouth, making me laugh again._

_I chewed and swallow, then sipped the wine. "Mmm," I groaned at the taste, perfect. I arched a brow at my husband. "So what's the occasion, Jake?"_

_"Not that we ever need an occasion for a living room picnic, but I'm shocked you forgot our anniversary."_

_I frowned up at him, my brow furrowed. "It's not our anniversary, Jake."_

_"Yes it is."_

_"No, it's not. We got married in November, you moron."_

_He gasped in mock shock, nuzzling into my shoulder. "I didn't say it was our one-year anniversary."_

_"You do realise the root of 'anniversary' is annual, i.e. once a year?" I asked, amused._

_"Details, details. It is in fact our three-month-and-nine-days' anniversary. A pivotal turning point in any young couple's life. Frankly, I'm amazed you overlooked it."_

_I burst out laughing, turning my head to capture his lips with mine. "You're such an ass," I whispered, then we kissed, soft and gentle in the candlelight. He tasted like wine and chocolate._

_When he ended the kiss with a soft touch of his lips to my nose a few moments later, I looked around at the multitude of candles. Jake reached around me to start assembling the s'mores._

_"What's with the candles anyway?"_

_He tucked my hair behind my ears. "A few reasons, I guess," he replied thoughtfully. "One being that the power's out again, but we also need them to roast the s'mores -" I snorted at that, predicting that the plan would end up with scorched fingers and melted chocolate in the carpet "- but that's not the main reason."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Well, this place is a little too flammable so I didn't want to start a campfire. The candles are the next best thing." He held me tight, nuzzling my shoulder, his warm breath on my neck. His voice was softer now and he traced the band of my wedding ring as he spoke. "When I remember falling in love with you, it's always with the firelight flickering on your face while we sat at First Beach. The candles always remind me of that."_

_My heart swelled. I was suddenly overcome with the memory of sitting on the brightly coloured stones of the beach, hearing the the waves break on the shore, the heat of the fire and my Jacob keeping the chill weather of La Push at bay._

_I snuggled into his arms as if I'd bury myself there, whispering, "I love you, Jake."_

RING RING. RING RING. RING RING.

The ringing of the phone tore me from the dream, and I smiled in a brief moment of sleepy happiness before reality crashed over me. Then I had to look down at myself, sure my body would be bleeding and broken. I lay there for a moment, frozen and numb.

I didn't make a move to answer the phone, just lay there and listened to its shrill voice until I heard Rosalie answer. I climbed out of bed, hearing her grumbling from the kitchen, and I headed for the shower.

Rose kept candles in a shelf on her side of the bathroom shelves. Before I turned on the shower I picked them up and shoved them into the back of the cabinet, slamming the door shut.

**~ * ~**

Rosalie glanced up at me when I finally emerged from my bedroom in a black t-shirt and blue yoga pants, idly drying my hair with a towel. I bee-lined straight for the coffee machine.

"Nice of you to finally join the land of the living, Bella."

I grunted in return. The extra sleep and painkillers had helped, but my skull still felt like small creatures had crawled in there to die. Fucking Cuervo.

"What's up with you, Bella? You've slept nearly the whole day away, you were still in bed when I got in from work. Are you sick?"

I frowned at her, puzzled. Was she joking? She must have known I'd be hungover, or else why would she have left me the aspirin. I couldn't even remember getting home last night. _My head hurts too much for passive aggressive guessing-games to teach Bella the evils of not drowning the pain in alcohol_. _Urgh._

"Ha ha, very funny Rose," I grumbled. "Yes, I got drunk and don't worry, I know it's a shitty way to deal with my problems. Please save the speech - the hangover is more than enough punishment."

Rosalie was looking a little alarmed now as she set her her coffee mug down on the kitchen table. "Bella, what the hell are you talking about? You got drunk? Why?"

I frowned. "I got a phone call, sent me a little crazy. Went to a bar downtown." Rose started to interrupt, but I quickly held up my hand. "Don't want to talk about it while I'm this hungover, so can we please raincheck it until tomorrow?"

"Sure, Bella. But we _will_ be talking about it tomorrow. Christ you look seriously rough though, how much did you have to drink?"

I shrugged. "I feel like death, don't even remember leaving the bar," I sheepishly admitted, realising just now how stupid and reckless my behaviour was. "But thanks for helping me when I got in, and for the aspirin and the water."

Rose's eyebrows shot up into her scalp at that one. "Hold the fuck up, Bella. What are you talking about, helping you? I wasn't even here last night, I was stuck at the hotel until late this morning."

I glared at her. "That's not funny, Rose." _Was she trying to teach me a lesson about drinking to the point of black-out? Hypocritical, much._

"I'm not trying to be fucking funny, Bella," she sounded angry now, and a little scared. "Someone left you pills and water, that means someone must have been here with you last night. Do you remember who it was? Is there a note?"

_Is she being serious?_ I shook my head wordlessly, leaning back against the counter-top. "Rose, I'm going to ask you this one last time and I swear to god if you don't tell me the truth then I'm moving out and never speaking to you again. Were you here last night, or not? Did you help me?"

Rose just shook her head, storm-grey eyes unusually serious and a little freaked. "I swear, Bella, I swear I wasn't even here."

I exhaled softly. "Then, well...shit."

Rose whispered, "What do you mean, you thought I 'helped' you?"

My face burned scarlet at the realisation that a total stranger had not only been in my apartment and left me aspirin in my drunken glory, but had also half-stripped me and wrapped me in blankets.

Then thoughtfully put my clothes to dry on the radiator.

Rose was going to freak.

I frowned then as the thought triggered a more important question. _Why wasn't _I _freaking out? _A stranger saw me half-naked, did god knows what to me while I was unconscious. Was in my apartment, my private space. _Shouldn't I be concerned about this?_

The logical answer was a clear yes, but for some reason I felt...safe. An odd but undeniable sense of security and protection that I now recognised as being present from the moment I woke earlier this morning. A sense of safety that had brought me a comforting dream, a happy memory of Jake instead of the usual nightmare.

_Am I going crazy?_

"Bella! Stop zoning out and fucking talk to me! You're scaring me now."

I ran my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to think of a way to phrase this that wasn't going to have Rose screaming and dragging me to the police station. Or the loony bin. "Well, I just assumed it was you because the pills and water were on my bedside table in my room. And...because whoever it was took off my clothes and wrapped me in a blanket -"

"WHAT THE FUCK!! Some pervert stripped you naked?! Jesus, Bella, we need to take you to the hospital right the fuck now or -"

"Calm down!" I yelled back. "I don't think it's like that; besides, I was still in my tank top and underwear. It was raining last night, right? Well whoever it was put my clothes out to dry on the radiator and they're still damp this morning. I probably have them to thank for not getting hypothermia or sleeping on the streets."

Rose was a little mollified, but she was still on her feet and fuming. "I don't understand how you can be so calm about this, Bella. If he or she was so innocent then why didn't they leave a note? And how the hell did they knew where you live? There's something seriously fucked-up about this and I can't _believe_ you're not freaking out right now."

I just shrugged. I had no answer to that, for as illogical as it was it was also true.

"How do you even know what was in the pills, Bella? It could be some sort of brainwashing drug - that would at least explain why you're acting like a pod person right now."

I snorted at that, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, Rose, because brainwashing drugs are available over-the-counter these days. Jeez, get a grip."

"Get a grip? _Get a fucking grip?!_ I think you're the one who needs to get a grip, Bella! I think you need to go to the hospital and get...checked out."

I slammed the coffee mug down on the table, my temper finally snapping. "No, I told you I'm FINE! Nothing happened last night, except I seemingly found the one good Samaritan out there and you're determined to paint him as some creeping serial rapist."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are so sure it's a he?"

A flash of startling green-eyes and a cut-glass masculine jaw shot across my vision, firm muscles cradling me from the rain, but instead I said, "Just the generic pronoun, Rose. Don't read too much into it."

"There tell me this. If you were so out of it, how did _he_ even know where you live?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I mumbled the address half-unconscious, or maybe he just checked my driving licence."

_No need to mention that my driving licence is being replaced by the DMV and wasn't even in my purse that night... How the hell _did_ he know where I live?_

Rose was still glaring at me with her vulture laser-gaze, but for once I wasn't cracking. Eventually she huffed and leaned back on the counter next to me, folding her arms. "Fine, Swan, I'll drop it. But I swear you do anymore drinking-party-for-one in some seedy bar, I'm going to kick your ass. Got it?"

"Got it, Hale," I murmured back at her, nudging her shoulder with mine and earning a brief smile. "Now get me some food before my stomach lining tries to eat itself, 'kay?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes and heading for the refrigerator. "Okay."

**~ * ~**

Later that night after ham omelettes dripping with Swiss cheese, I picked up the same blanket I'd been wrapped in last night and went out into the rooftop garden. It had been the apartment's main selling point for Rose and I, high enough above the city streets to give us the illusion of peace and privacy. We'd filled the space with leafy green plants and flowering clematis, and sweet-smelling honeysuckle climbing the wall around the door like a fairy-bower.

In the far corner was a rough-hewn wooden planter decorated with stylised wolf carvings. It was filled with a medium-high woody shrub with slender tubular white flowers which unfolded its delicate star-shaped petals only at night: _Cestrum nocturnum_, or night-blooming jasmine. God only knows how it managed to survive in Seattle, but somehow it did.

I lay down on the blanket, folding my hands over my stomach and gazing up at the night sky, the air thick with floral perfume. A few stars were discernible, but the city's light pollution made most of them invisible. I closed my eyes, enjoying the memory of star-gazing on First Beach beneath a spangled shining sky.

My musings were broken by a string of shrieked curses from Rosalie within the apartment. Curious, I reopened my eyes to see...nothing. I smiled to myself at the power blackout and looked back up the heavens.

I could hear Rosalie swearing and stumbling inside as she searched for matches and candles, then a few minutes later she emerged from the apartment to join me on the blanket with a huff. A lit candle was cupped between her hands, protecting the fragile flame from the breeze.

In the rare moment, the nighttime sky was revealed as a deep, jewelled canvas of stars, glittering from horizon to horizon. Wordlessly, we both stared up at the natural wonder, both considering how the magic lost to city-dwellers could be recaptured in the moment when technology falters.

_Lucy in the sky with diamonds..._

Rosalie sighed in exasperation as the candle blew out in the wind, but made no effort to relight it and instead lay down next to me. I smiled as I felt her little finger curl around mine, a rare gesture of comfort which would be the equivalent of a hug from anyone else. I don't know what I would do without her.

"Bella?"

"Yes, Rose?"

"Will you tell me why you were drinking yourself into a coma last night? You said you got a phone call..."

Her words were tentative, but honestly there was no need. In this moment of tranquility, surrounded by heady floral scent, I felt no pain talking about this to her. "A cop called me, I think he said his name was Detective Parker." I smiled then. "I think he's newly promoted, sounded a little squeaky to me."

I could see Rose half-smile at that out of the corner of my eye, but she didn't interrupt. I was grateful.

"He, um, he addressed me as Mrs. Black, which was a little more painful than a kick in the stomach." Rose squeezed my finger in sympathy. "But sometimes, it seems more painful being called 'Ms. Swan'. It makes me feel like I imagined the whole thing, that I was never really married..."

I trailed off, unconsciously rubbing the now-naked skin on my left ring finger. "They figured out who mugged us that night, traced the gun or something, I'm not sure." I felt a single tear well in my eye, trickle down its path over my cheekbone; miraculously, my voice remained steady. "He'd dead. The cop used the term 'deceased', I'm not sure why that seems different. Less real, maybe? I don't know."

I was silent for a moment, then Rose whispered, "How?"

A fought the urge to laugh semi-hysterically at that. "A car accident. A fucking car accident, can you believe it? It was that night too - he was so desperate to spent his measly thirty bucks on getting high that he ran straight into oncoming traffic. Killed my husband, killed our child before she'd even had a chance to breathe, then he died a week later in the hospital. Never woke up. Never suffered. Just...slipped away."

_Like our Lucy slipped away..._

"Oh, Bella."

And that was it, that was all it took. Her rich, honey voice thick with sympathy and shared pain tripped me over the edge and I felt the dam within me tear and shatter irrevocably, the river of pain and grief bursting like a tidal wave and pulling me under. The tears exploded from me, great hulking sobs of loss that shook my whole frame as I clung to Rose and wailed into the night.

I'm not sure how long passed as I clung to her and wept, finally letting the memories of Jake and our shared plans for our child run free. I remembered how that morning we'd received our first sonogram picture, how Jake had bribed the ultrasound technician to let our appointment run on because the little slip of life within me was too shy to turn and reveal her gender. And when she did, when I knew she was going to be a girl... How we were going to name her Lucy, after that stupid Beatles song that Jake was obsessed with.

I cried until there were no more tears within me, destroying Rose's shirt with saltwater and grief. She rubbed soothing circles on my back, running her fingers over my scalp and holding me tightly, not saying a word until I calmed and the sobs were reduced to hiccoughs, and then...nothing.

_Lucy in the sky with diamonds_...

Nothing was said for long minutes, then, softly, "It will get better you know."

_Will it?_ "I know."

Rosalie scoffed, but gripped her hand fully around mine and squeezed. "Liar," she murmured, kissing my forehead and pulling me tight to her.

We lay together in the garden, transfixed with the sea of diamonds above us until power returned and the stars disappeared.

**~ * ~**

**A/N Thank you again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, really appreciate it. Also hoping that those of you who're following the story but haven't commented yet might chime in - this was a difficult chapter to write and I would love to hear what you think.**

**The song referenced is **_**Lucy In the Sky with Diamonds**_** by The Beatles, which if you haven't already heard listen to on YouTube, it's a classic.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Please please click the button at the end and let me know how you think I'm doing.**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

_Previous (BPOV)_

_Nothing was said for long minutes, then, softly, "It will get better you know."_

Will it?_ "I know."_

_Rosalie scoffed, but gripped her hand fully around mine and squeezed. "Liar," she murmured, kissing my forehead and pulling me tight to her._

_We lay together in the garden, transfixed with the sea of diamonds above us until the city's power returned and the stars disappeared._

**~ * ~**

**BPOV**

The next day I awoke feeling...lighter? As if the air in my room was clearer and my breath came more freely. I stretched in bed and the soft cotton sheets hugged my legs as I stared up at the ceiling, trying to analyse my emotions and state of mind. The usual sense of dread - of loss - that usually struck me within five seconds of waking was strangely absent today. Huh.

I showered and dressed with an abstracted frame of mind, almost sleep-walking through the motions, so that when I found myself fully groomed for the day and sitting at the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee I was a little surprised.

A flash of my dream from last night occupied me as I sipped coffee and munched on an apple. The details were fuzzy and distant, like a view through stained glass rippled with age. I could remember the smell of rain and tobacco, the rushing cadence of traffic on a wet road and that I felt like I was floating. It reminded me of childhood memories of being carried as if I weighed less than air.

The only detail was stood out, that wasn't distorted by the confusion of waking, was a pair of mossy green eyes. Dark and intense, so bright that they almost seemed inhuman - more like the eyes of a feline than a person. A man. Despite the lack of detail I was sure the eyes belonged to a male.

A finger of guilt poked at me then. Jake's eyes were a very dark brown, almost beetle-black and usually glimmered with laughter and warmth. These eyes were different - tortured yet elated, guilty, pained - beautiful. A cacophony of contradictions. What were they doing in my dreams?

The silence in the apartment told me that Rosalie had already departed for work. The conference her company was involved in was scheduled for tomorrow and I didn't expect to see much of her until the event was over with. She'd left our newspaper discarded on the table, the crossword puzzle half-completed in Rose's sharp writing. I picked up the pen she'd left and studied the gaps, losing myself in the familiar challenge.

_Four down: a source of respite and consolation, six letters._ I absently chewed on the pen, then wrote in the answer: _solace_.

_Eleven across: an intense earnest need or melancholic desire, seven letters_. I rolled the pen between my fingers like a miniature baton, thinking, then scrawled the word into the small boxes: _longing_.

Then a flash of brooding green eyes pierced me, and I threw the pen down onto the crossword in disgust, the harmless morning ritual not as calming as it once was. I opened the paper and flicked through the pages, noting nothing out of the usual in the news - generic city crime, bland political scandal, a human interest piece about the Seattle Fire Department rescuing a record number of cats from trees this year.

I skipped forward until I reached the employment pages and paused, recalling my conversation with Rose earlier in the week and Dr. Bitch's urgings that I find myself some busy-work. Not really expecting to find anything I traced the page until I got to the miscellaneous section that would house the scant photography offerings. Freelance positions were scarce and they were heavily competed for, so I didn't expect to find anything.

A predictably ambiguous ad in small print asked for '_Open-minded and adventurous photographer sought for private sessions, bring own equipment. Females preferred_.' I crinkled my nose at that one, shuddering slightly as I recalled the one time I'd answered a similar advertisement - young and far too naive, the images of sweaty middle-aged men in leather corsets still haunted me now. Ew.

The box below that one was a women and childrens' shelter seeking a photographer to take some snaps of its buildings and residents as part of a publicity campaign to raise money. I circled that one; the position was stated to be on a voluntary-basis, but Heidi's marketing of my pictures ensured me a tidy nest egg to fall back on. I was by no means a well-known or high-end artist, but my gallery exhibitions always found a modest audience and the remainder of my pieces scattered the walls of offices throughout Seattle.

I had always liked photographing children - there was something so adorably innocent about the way they'd react to the camera. Some would throw themselves before the lens, eager to see their faces captured on film, while others would hesitate and hedge, shy as natives scared that the camera would steal their souls. Since Jake's death I'd avoided photographing people, children in particular; I felt that Dr. Bitch would be proud of me for pushing outside my comfort zone.

The next advertisement was even smaller type than the others, just two lines of text with a simple black border: '_Cullen Private Detectives' Agency requires part-time associate with experience of photography. Confidentiality and discretion essential_.'

Hmm. I don't know why, but a curl of intrigue rose within me. A private detective agency? For a moment I was overwhelmed with 1920s film noir and men stalking through dark streets with the swirl of cigarette smoke, dressed in a trench coat and fedora. Then I smiled as my mind jumped to reruns of _Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)_ that I used to watch with my dad and the _No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency_ books that Rosalie was briefly obsessed with last year.

I eyed the phone number printed below the small mysterious ad and circled it decisively, determined to at least call and satisfy my curiosity. If they were a bunch of crazy people who expected me to do nothing but photograph cheating spouses fornicating in cheap motel rooms, then I could always politely decline.

The feeling of lightness I'd awoken with increased slightly at my decision and for once I was looking forward to something, not merely trudging through my existence unchanged and uncaring. When I left the apartment to go for my morning bagel I could see the look of surprise on the doorman's face as I flashed him a brief smile before exiting the building, my feet tapping along the pavement. For the first time in a long time I didn't feel as if I was sinking feet-first into the damp asphalt.

**~ * ~**

I had a mid-afternoon therapy session with Dr. Bitch, so I spent the rest of the morning browsing in my favourite bookstore. It was a hidden underground dimly-lit shop that looked like it had been directly transplanted from the 1950s. The proprietor, Beatrice, was a small hunched woman with skin wrinkled like brown paper who had a reverse philosophy to most shop-owners. She would give disapproving glares to those who dared buy anything from her musty treasure-trove, but bizarrely approved of shoppers who bought nothing and instead spent hours there browsing and reading her books.

I learnt long ago to limit my purchases to the absolute minimum and instead spent as much time as possible lost in between the shelves, trailing fingertips over dusty hardbacks and rare first editions that were thrown haphazardly among the rest as if they had no worth. Beatrice and I never spoke, but often when I'd regretfully have to leave midway through a new novel I'd return a few days later to find that Beatrice had put the book aside for me, my page marked carefully with an antique brass bookmark.

I trailed one finger over the books spines on the shelf, stopping when at a small hardback copy of Charlotte Bronte's _Jane Eyre_ that I couldn't help but pick up. It was barely larger than the span of my hand, designed to fit in a lady's purse, its type tiny and the dark blue cover battered and scuffed. It felt well-read and loved; I could almost feel other hands opening and re-reading it, the spine cracked long ago and a few of the pages stained and slightly torn.

I turned the hard cover and smiled at the slightly-faded handwritten dedication penned there in elegant script. _To my dearest Eleanor on your nineteenth birthday. Your presence rescues me from myself each day. Our love is a many-repaired thing, but for as long as our two souls whisper wordlessly to each other across the hall we will endure. All my love, now and forever, your Alexander_.

The message brought a single tear to my eye, and I caressed the spine of the book and wondered about the boy who'd wrote his heart here. I wondered if their love had endured. I went to replace the book on the shelf but found I could not bring myself to put it among the faceless tomes, lost and forgotten. The cover was battered and broken and not pretty - it would stay here forever, unnoticed and unloved.

Gripping the book tightly in my hands I decided to dare the wrath of Beatrice and purchase it. Oddly enough when I brought it to the counter and offered my five dollar bill, she didn't scowl at all; rather, she looked a little pleased and ever-so-slightly amused.

**~ * ~**

I was early for my appointment with Dr. Bitch. I flicked through bland magazines while I waited, thinking about the private detectives' job I'd seen advertised. My curiosity had only increased over the day and I wondered what it would entail, preoccupied with _Mission Impossible_-like scenarios of me climbing trees in a black ski-mask to capture case-breaking pictures with a long-lens camera. I snorted and shook my head - my one tree-climbing adventure with Jake when we were thirteen had ended up with me in the ER with a broken arm and Jake being yelled at by both our fathers for half an hour.

Eventually, the receptionist called me. "Ms. Swan? Dr. Clearwater is ready for you now."

Leah was sitting behind the over-large mahogany desk as usual, pen in hand and my case notes spread out before her. The sight of the handwritten record of my sessions always made me a little uncomfortable and I was sure that was part of the reason why Dr. Bitch always made sure to have them clearly on display. She liked me to see the reminder of how much we'd covered, how far we'd come.

She tapped her pen on the table, laser eyes burning into mine over the rims of her square steel-grey glasses as I saw down. Silence reigned for a few moments, as always. I just watched her, and waited.

"How are you today, Bella?"

"Fine." It was my standard answer, but with a small curl of my lips I realised that for once it might not to be too far from the truth.

Leah arched a brow at me and wrote something in the Moleskine. "Either you've improved your skills of deception, or something has happened." She smirked slightly. "You're a crappy actress so I seriously doubt the first is possible. Spill."

I frowned. My mind ping-ponged between the phone call from Detective Parker that led to the one-woman drunken binge party; the possibility that a strange man with a clothes-drying fetish was in my apartment; and the hysterical crying in Rosalie's arms on the roof. I decided to go with the safest option.

"The detectives working on the case called me a few days ago, told me they ID'd our assailant that night and he later passed in the hospital. His name was Laurent Vandir. He was in a car accident."

"That's a very neat summary, Bella," she said, suspicious at the lack of anguish in my voice. "Where were you when you got the call?"

I shifted a little at that; Dr. Bitch read far too much into my visits to that place. "At the cathedral."

Her eyes narrowed. "How many times have you been this week?"

"Um." I was surprised, realising that I hadn't been back since the night I got the call from Dt. Parker. Odd; I would sometimes go every day on a bad week. "Only once, actually."

Leah brow lifted a little at the unexpected answer and she made a note in the margin. "You sound surprised."

I just shrugged.

"So have you been working, been busy?"

"Not really," I murmured. "Nothing beyond the usual." I decided to keep my intention to apply to the Cullen Agency to myself for now; I wasn't sure what to make of it yet, and I didn't want Dr. Bitch to get her claws into my motives.

"Then how is it that you forgot to get your 'fix'?" she asked wryly. "You usually obsess over your visits to the cathedral - and don't deny it!" she snapped, cutting off my planned interruption to do just that. "I know you've been visiting more than you admit in these sessions. What happened this week that made you overlook the cathedral?"

I just shrugged. I really didn't know what to say. Why hadn't I been back yet? I hadn't even lit a candle this week - Dt. Parker's call had come before I had a chance to go through my little ritual. How long had it been since I'd gone this long without it?

"What did you do after Dt. Parker called?"

_Shit_. I'd been really hoping she wouldn't ask that, wouldn't find out about my vacation from common sense, as futile as the hope might be. "I was a little...upset."

She rolled her eyes at me. "You don't pay me two hundred dollars an hour to bullshit me, Bella. What did you do?"

I looked down at my feet and caught a glimpse of the blue corner of _Jane Eyre_ sticking out of the corner of my purse. "I went to a bar."

"And how many Xanex did you take before you went to said bar?"

I scowled at her, angry at myself for being so predictable and furious with her for never relenting. "A few."

"And how much did you drink?"

"A little."

Dr. Bitch snorted at that and wrote a mini-essay in the notebook. "Did anything else happen at the bar?" I shook my head. "Is that a 'no, nothing happened' or a 'no, I can't remember if anything happened because I was too inebriated'?"

I spoke carefully. "No, nothing happened at the bar."

"What about after the bar?"

_Bitch!_ "For that, I'd have to take option two."

"So you don't remember getting home?"

I shook my head.

Leah sighed and took off her glasses, placing them carefully on the desk. "I won't bore you with a lecture on the evils of mixing prescription meds with alcohol, because despite recent behaviour you're not an idiot. Besides, I know that's not your poison and in all likelihood this was a one-off. But I'm pretty sure something happened to you after you left the bar, and I'm guessing that for some reason that's what caused the change today."

I was puzzled. "What change?"

Leah steepled her fingertips and gazed at me intently. "You walked in here like you wanted to be here; you usually skulk in the doorway for a few minutes and scowl at me and my office. Particularly the painting for some reason. You didn't fidget and look around - you made eye-contact with me straight away and seemed more at ease. You also haven't yet threatened to quit therapy, or called me a lesbian or a bitch." She smirked then. "Well, at least not aloud anyway."

Her words surprised me, but didn't make me want to share the information on the strange man. The man who I'm guessing had inspired my recent green-eyed dreams. I had an inkling that Leah's reaction would be similar to Rose's, except I wouldn't be able to talk Dr. Bitch out of calling the police or possibly even hitting me over the head with a chair.

So I decided to edit.

"I don't remember much after leaving the bar, my memory is a little hazy, but I do know that a good Samaritan helped me get home." I floundered a little, and offered a watered-down version of the truth. "I guess I feel better knowing that there are still good people out there. It made me feel...safe."

Dr. Bitch started with the pen-tapping and the laser glare, but I carefully schooled my expression and didn't break. Eventually she sighed in exasperation and said, "You're definitely hiding something, Ms. Swan, but I'm not going to push it today. You haven't pushed the bullshit meter too much this session so I'll give you a break - but I know that's not the whole explanation and don't think you're getting away with this. Okay?"

I folded my arms and frowned, before realising I looked like a pouting child and deliberately put my hands back into my lap. "Okay."

Leah slipped her glasses back on and flipped the page to see what she'd written earlier. "When you mentioned the phone call from Dt. Parker earlier, you were much calmer than I'd expect. Have you already discussed the news about Laurent Vandir with Rosalie?"

I nodded, my eyes softening as I recalled Rose's care and willingness to listen and hold me as I bawled on the roof with a tenderness that was so out of character for the bitchy ice queen. "Yeah, we talked it out." I smiled at Dr. Bitch, knowing she'd like my next words. "I cried like a baby for nearly an hour."

Leah grinned at me with genuine approval. I was shocked by the change it brought to her face, the warmth and affection that brought her eyes to life. In that moment I realised this was the expression that coaxed such a look of sappy-eyed love from the guy in the photo frame she always kept on her desk.

"Forgive the cliche question from psyche 101, but how did it make you feel?"

I smiled at her, the lightness that had begun this morning and built over the day drifting above me like a helium cloud.

"It felt good."

**~ * ~**

**A/N Thank you again to all my reviewers!! Please please leave me some feedback because these take ages to write :)**

**Up next - more EPOV. Do you think he should feel guilty or happy over his visit into Bella's apartment?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Please please click the button at the end and let me know how you think I'm doing.**

**A MASSIVE thank you to ****amaryllisjade**** who recommended this story to the talented ****Vixen1836****, who put it on her blog with a lovely description (www(dot)vixenstories(dot)net/recommendations/). THANK YOU!!!**

**CHAPTER NINE**

_Previous (BPOV)_

_"I cried like a baby for nearly an hour."_

_Leah grinned at me with genuine approval. I was shocked by the change it brought to her face, the warmth and affection that brought her eyes to life. _

_"Forgive the cliche question from psyche 101, but how did it make you feel?"_

_I smiled at her, the lightness that had begun this morning and built over the day drifting above me like a helium cloud._

_"It felt good."_

**~ * ~**

**EPOV**

Alice tossed a heavy manilla file in front of me with a low thump. She hopped up onto the edge if my desk, delicately crossing her legs and folding her tiny hands over her child-size tailored skirt suit.

I took a sip of the burning hot lava Emmett was trying to call coffee and raised an eyebrow questioningly at Alice. "New client?"

"Yes, she's coming in at ten. Angela de Luca, formerly Angela Webber. And I'd brace yourself - something tells me this is going to be a difficult one."

"How so?"

"The file is right in front of you, Edward."

I rolled my eyes. "As you're so fond of telling us all, you apparently know everything. So why don't you just give me the Cliffs Notes version?"

She sighed and scooped the file back off the desk, pulling out a medical report and several X-rays. I glanced at them briefly, enough to see a variety of broken bones and the word 'contusion' appearing with disturbing regularity in the handwritten notes. "Domestic abuse case, trying to get away from her husband. Well, soon-to-be ex-husband."

I frowned, furrowing my brow in mild confusion. "Sounds like a straightforward security detail. Why haven't you handed this off to Emmett already?"

"I'm not stupid, Edward - of course Emmett will be involved in protecting her, but it's more complicated than that." Then lower, under her breath, "Which you'd know if you read the file."

"Complicated how?"

"Well, for one thing her husband is Felix de Luca."

I choked on my coffee a little. "Shit," I breathed. "The Senator's son?"

"The one and only. He's using every one of his daddy's dirty little connections to drag the divorce out and get away with terrorising Angela." She gestured towards the medical documents. "She has a full file of medical evidence that he beats the shit out of her, but he always ends up with an airtight alibi on the rare occasion the police have bothered sniffing round when she ends up in the hospital."

"Airtight how?"

"Always prominent members of the community, usually more than one. Never public occasions, always private events - but half the cops are in Senator de Luca's pocket and they never investigate too deeply. I'd really love to know what kind of dirt the de Lucas have that gets that many people to lie through their teeth for them." Her voice was disgusted and her eyes flashed. "It looks like Felix even paid some guy to claim he was having an affair with Angela and he was the one who'd beaten her. He's in jail now and the court transcripts show he was oddly cooperative through the whole process."

"Can we prove Felix paid him off?"

Alice shook her head. "Not yet, but Jazz is working on it. A deposit was made to an account in the Caymans the day before the guy went to the police and 'confessed', apparently overwhelmed with remorse." She gave a delicate snort, expressing her contempt and disbelief. "Just over a million dollars - not bad for less than eighteen months in jail."

I arched a brow. "Tell Jasper to keep digging. I doubt official channels are going to work with this one, so our best bet might just be to find something on de Luca dirty enough to get him to back off." I remembered the brief scraps of information I'd heard on Felix, then added, "Or at least get his father to make him back off." Senator de Luca would probably slaughter his own son to avoid negative publicity.

Alice nodded, flicking absently through the file. "That what Jazz and I figured," she mused. "But I was also thinking I'd follow him, or at least follow Angela and wait for him to show up and harass her. Or worse," she added darkly. "The de Lucas are good at covering their trail and just in case Jazz can't find anything we need a back-up plan."

I peered at her over the top of my coffee mug. "Does Jasper know about this plan of yours?"

"I'm a big girl, Edward," she snapped. "I've been doing this just as long as you have. It will be perfectly safe; I'll use my long lens camera and stay way out of his range."

"If the rumours are right about Felix he's borderline psychotic with a serious anger management problem. And, well, this..." I swept a hand over the medical file detailing Angela's injuries. "He's also bigger than Emmett, which makes him about seven times bigger than you."

"I know it's somewhat risky, but I'm fast and _I'll_ be watching _him_. If he gets suspicious I'll be able to cut and run before he can even see me, let alone catch me."

I gave a pointed stare to the five inch heels she was wearing.

She huffed. "Fine, I'll wear _flats_ when I'm following him around." She said the word with disgust and let out a light shudder. "But no tennis shoes. And, for the record, I can still run damn fast in heels."

"I don't like this plan, Alice."

"What choice do we have? If Jazz can't find anything on Felix then we have no leverage. The de Lucas are good at hiding things - damn, do you have any idea how much public scrutiny a Senatorial nominee is under let alone the checks performed once they're appointed? Jazz is good but he's not a miracle worker."

I didn't say anything, but I knew she was right.

"And I'm the best photographer we have, and the best at sneaking around."

I snorted, muttering, "Can't deny that one."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously but she continued as if I hadn't spoken. "From what Angela said he's volatile and has little self-control - if won't take long for him to lose his temper and screw up. Then we'll have it on film and can use it against him."

"So, what, you're just going to wait for him to beat the crap out of her and then take pictures?" I asked incredulously.

"Don't be an asshole! Emmett will be with her and besides, Felix does plenty of stuff that will qualify as harassment without actually hitting her. The second he does get physical with her I'll make an anonymous call to the cops, so she'll be safe. Her townhouse has huge windows so I'll be able to catch whatever goes on inside, and you can persuade her to put cameras in the rest of the house so we don't miss anything."

"She still lives with him?"

"No," Alice said, shaking her head. "But the last couple of times he beat her it was at her place. The time before he grabbed her off the street when she was shopping."

I thought her plan over, drumming my fingers on the desk as she patiently waited, already knowing what my answer would be. Alice was right - her plan was the only one that made any sense, and it's not like she hadn't followed dangerous men around before and snapped their pictures.

And she was fast, even in stilettos. And sneaky.

But I couldn't deny that this felt case different. I'd only glimpsed Felix a few times at public events and seen him in the media a few more, but he gave off the impression of a rabid animal. Feral and barely restrained.

Yet the alternative was to just wait until he did something bad enough to his wife that even the cops couldn't overlook it. Unacceptable.

"Fine," I eventually said lowly, ignoring the smirk of triumph that flitted over Alice's face. "But you have to keep an open channel with Jazz or Emmett the entire time you're out. And you have to take your gun."

"But -"

"No buts, Alice," I growled. We all had licences to carry a concealed weapon, but Alice barely every used hers. She knew how to handle one but she still hated guns.

"Fine, I'll take my gun," she eventually snapped, folding her arms. "Jasper probably would have insisted on it anyway."

I smiled. "True. And you are the one who has to tell Jasper about this - you know how he reacted last time you went out on assignment after Vorobyov."

"Don't worry, I can handle Jazz."

I laughed and shook my head, pulling the rest of the documents out of Angela de Luca's file and starting to read through them before she arrived.

**~ * ~**

A few minutes before ten the office door let out a soft jingle as it opened, cold Seattle wind rustling paper throughout the office. Alice was perched behind the reception desk, filling in until we found Jane's replacement, and I heard her soft birdlike voice greeting the woman who I presumed was Angela de Luca.

An even softer voice responded, so low I couldn't make out what she was saying. Alice replied quickly and I picked my name out, before the other woman murmured softly and began making her way over to my desk.

I didn't look up at first, re-reading the court transcript on the guy that Felix had paid off to discredit Angela. Her footsteps were slow and hesitant, a little out of synchronisation as if she were limping. I didn't look up until she was a couple of feet in front of me.

My eyes widened as I took her in and my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, but otherwise my face was carefully schooled into a neutral expression. She was looking down at her feet, avoiding my eyes as she murmured, "Mr. Cullen?"

The date on the medical report showed that Angela had been last admitted to the Emergency Room nearly a week ago, which made me wonder what the fuck she must have looked like then. She slipped off a pair of oversized sunglasses; it was rainy and overcast outside - clearly she was not wearing them to avoid the sun.

Dressed in a a modest grey pant suit and low heels, Angela was slightly taller than average the average woman, probably 5'8" or 5'9". She was slenderly built with a soft, serious expression and a gentleness to her eyes that somehow made the bruises worse than if she'd looked bitter. She had long straight brown hair gathered into a simple pony tail down her back.

The colour of her hair reminded me uncomfortably of Bella and I fought to push the comparison aside. I couldn't think about Bella beaten and broken like that.

Angela stood across from me, her bruised faced blatantly obvious despite her attempt to disguise it with cosmetics. It was a good attempt - it implied she had practice as this - but the swelling and darkened skin was still discernible. It made me wonder how bad it looked beneath the concealer.

The double bruises under her eyes reminded me that he'd broken her nose as well as fracturing her cheekbone. The medical report had detailed three broken ribs, severe contusions, a concussion, a sprained ankle and a broken wrist. I could see the white cast at the edge of her long-sleeved jacket and she moved carefully, favouring her right side as she moved.

"Please take a seat, Mrs. de Luca."

She flinched at that, and whispered, "Please call me Ms. Weber."

"Of course." She lowered herself into the chair opposite me slowly, wincing a little and still not making eye contact with me.

I glanced at the paperwork and wondered how the hell this woman ended up here. Her father was a minister, a well-respected church leader in her hometown - not an attention-seeking evangelist nor a publicity-hound pimping his daughter out for increased internet subscriptions. She'd gone to an Ivy League school on scholarship and volunteered at a soup kitchen every week since she was fifteen.

On paper, she'd appeared simple and clear. In person the impression was even more obvious. I was adept at reading people and I knew that Angela was a good person. How the fuck did she end up with a monster like Felix?

She stared down at the table like a frightened animal. I cleared my throat and spoke. "I've read your file and spoken to Alice, so I just have a few questions."

She glanced up at me, giving me a brief flash of soft grey eyes, then tilted her head back down. "That sounds fine, Mr. Cullen.

I clenched my fists under the desk. With her head down the resemblance to Bella was highly unsettling. "Has anything new happened with your husband since you called us?"

"No, there have been no further...incidents with since I last spoke to Alice."

"So he hasn't tried to contact you at all since you were discharged from the hospital?"

She shook her head, then hesitated. "Well...my phone rang twice last night but no one spoke when I answered. But it could have been a wrong number."

I frowned, leaning forward slightly and steepling my hands. "Does that happen a lot?"

She shrugged, making fleeting eye contact with me once again. "On occasion. The number is private so I never know whether it is him or not. When we were still living together I used to suspect he would call me and stay silent just to check that I was home."

"Since you moved out does Felix call you to talk?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Well, he calls me to shout," she whispered, so quietly that I had to strain to hear her.

I made a brief note on her file to get her phone tapped and to chase down the records of whoever had been calling her. Jasper had a useful contact at the phone company that could tell us if Felix had been the private number or not. Unfortunately the information would be useless from a legal standpoint, but it would give us more unofficial leverage against his family.

"What's the security system like at your townhouse?"

"I have an alarm that's triggered by the doors or windows opening when it's armed. Deadbolt on the front and back door, locks on all the windows."

"How did Felix get in? Does he know the code?"

She shook her head. "No, he surprised me when I arrived home as I was opening my door. It was dark and my hands were full of bags, so I didn't notice he was behind me until I'd disarmed the system and unlocked the door." Her voice shook a little at the end and her eyes glistened with unshed tears which didn't fall.

"We're going to upgrade your security system and put some CCTV cameras around your property so you can see if he's hanging around. We're also going to put a guard on you at all times so this won't happen again."

She nodded, asking, "Who?"

"Emmett McCarty will be your main bodyguard until this situation is resolved." I gestured to the far corner of the office where Emmett was lounging, talking lowly on the phone. Angela's eyes widened a little when she saw him, but she seemed somewhat relieved at his appearance. Nearly three hundred pounds of muscle can do that, even with a brute like Felix in the picture.

I continued. "But I think you need someone with you around the clock, just in case, so I'm going to contact a security firm I've worked with in the past. Is that okay?"

"Yes, thank you," she murmured. Then her brow furrowed a little and her eyes flicked up to meet my gaze, again so briefly. She reminded me of a timid rabbit. "But...what about Felix? I don't know if he'll stop even if I get the divorce. And I tried to get a restraining order, but..." She trailed off and looked scared.

I looked down at the paperwork. "Back in 2006, right? That's the only time you've told the police that Felix does this to you."

She nodded as if he voice had been swallowed up, looking scared as if he was going to jump out from beneath the desk and beat the shit out of her again.

I'd read that part of the file with disgust for Felix's contemptible existence. Following a particularly bad trip to the hospital Angela had given in to an unusually persistent and surprisingly uncorrupted police officer and told a very diluted version of the truth. The officer had persuaded her to file for a restraining order, but it had never been granted. To be honest, I was sceptical of whether it would be any use - I had no doubt that he would have just ignored it.

That had been when Felix had paid off that asshole to claim he'd hit her because she'd tried to end their affair. Three weeks later Angela retracted her statement to the police and then had ended up back in the hospital. She'd been admitted with a multitude of broken bones and injuries before falling into a coma that last ten days. The medical file listed the reason as 'automobile accident' but it didn't take a genius to figure out that the injuries were clearly abuse-related.

"He has someone in the hospital who he pays to alter my medical records," she said, a slight hint of anger in her voice now. "And after I tried to get the restraining order and he made everyone think I was cheating on him, he somehow got my therapist to tell the police that I was delusional and had a history of self-harming."

I scowled at the depths this piece of shit was willing to go to, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We're going to do more than get a restraining order, Ms. Weber," I growled. "My associates are digging into your husband's past and business dealings to find some insurance. We're going to find enough leverage so that your father-in-law will make him back off."

She looked confused. "How? He's too connected and the de Lucas know how to keep everything in the family." She looked sad, hopeless. "I really don't think you'll find anything."

I sighed, knowing she was probably correct. Fuck, Alice really was right about this one. "I know," I admitted. "But we're also going to have our photographer shadowing Mr. de Luca, as well as tapping your phone. Hopefully we'll end up with enough evidence that he's a controlling abusive fuckwit that he'll be forced to back up."

She smiled slightly at my profanity, but didn't look convinced. "I don't know if he'll back up, Mr. Cullen. His father can barely control him at all and he gets angrier every time I refuse to come home."

"We will keep you safe. Worst case scenario we'll have to hide you, move you to another state and change your name." She flinched at that. "It's not ideal, but we've done it before and we know how to keep him from finding you. Either way, I promise we'll keep you safe."

Her eyes slowly flitted back up to meet me, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. Silently she just nodded, for the first time since she'd walked through the door holding my gaze for more than two seconds. "Okay," she whispered.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, running my hands compulsively through my hair. I stood and offered her a hand. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Emmett."

**~ * ~**

**A/N Thank you again to all my reviewers!! Please please leave me some feedback and you will be rewarded your own personal Edwards.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I just love messing with them.**

**So sorry for the update fail, new job and new place to live. Just saying. Updates will be more frequent now :)**

**PLEASE READ****: So I've made a bit of a continuity error with this story and made a big error in Chapter 5, which I've now gone back and re-edited. Basically – there were supposed to be two assailants that attacked Jake and Bella that night, James and Laurent. Laurent was ran over that night and is now dead, while James was recently caught and arrested for shooting Jake. **

**So sorry about the confusion!!**

**CHAPTER TEN**

_Previous (EPOV)_

_"We will keep you safe. Worst case scenario we'll have to hide you, move you to another state and change your name." She flinched at that. "It's not ideal, but we've done it before and we know how to keep your husband from finding you. Either way, I promise we'll keep you safe."_

_Angela's eyes slowly flitted back up to meet me, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. Silently she just nodded, for the first time since she'd walked through the door holding my gaze for more than two seconds. "Okay," she whispered._

_I sighed and leaned back in my chair, running my hands compulsively through my hair. I stood and offered her a hand. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Emmett."_

**~ * ~**

**BPOV**

"What about this one, Bella?"

I looked up from the dining room table to look at the six-by-eight glossy photo Rose was waving at me across the room. It was a colour shot of the last stages of a darkening sunset over one of our favourite parks across town, the outlines of joggers and playing children discernible across the bottom line and left corner.

"I'm not sure," I said doubtfully, my brow furrowed. I didn't want to articulate that I'd been purposely avoiding picking the pictures with people - especially kids. Maybe it was the park that made me uncomfortable. It probably didn't matter anyway - I was pretty sure Rose had figured out my tactics about fifty-nine photos ago.

Rose made a dismissive sound and waved the picture again. "Why? It's beautiful, dramatic and fits in with the other pictures you picked for the exhibit."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, put it in the 'maybe' pile."

I turned back to the table, the entire surface covered in glossy print-outs that my agent, Heidi, had sent over nearly three weeks ago. The exhibit was the day after tomorrow and nearly seventeen not-so-polite phone calls from Heidi had finally motivated me to figure out the final selection.

We worked in silence for a while then, quietly sifting through and selecting what would be shown in the gallery. Rosalie had helped me do this ever since my first show, her bluntness invaluable. Not only did she have a good eye for photography, but more importantly she _knew_ me and what I wanted to project - even when I couldn't see it myself.

I heard the tear of packing tape as Rose ripped open the final box of pictures, then the soft rustling sounds as she laid them onto the kitchen counter.

"Oh, hell no!"

I had two pictures held out in front of me, trying to decide which shot was my favourite. The light was better in the first, but while taking the second a magpie had flown shockingly close to my camera. At the time I'd been convinced the take was ruined, but to my surprise the bird's silhouette was a dramatic stark contrast to the scene behind it. I was tempted to put them both in.

"What?" I asked, distracted.

"When did you take this?" Rose demanded.

I walked over to the stack Rose was looking at and plucked the offending picture from her fingertips, smiling to myself once I realised what it was. I should have known; if I'd been thinking clearer then I'd have taken this one out earlier because I could have predicted Rosalie's reaction.

"It's a great picture," I murmured, looking at it fondly. "You look beautiful in it."

She scoffed. "Please. I have no make-up, I clearly haven't even combed my hair and I have _bags_ under my eyes. Why did you take this? _When_ did you take this? I'll just get rid of it -"

"NO!" I yelled, lunging for the picture. Rosalie was so shocked by the sudden movement that I managed to snatch the photo to safety before she could run with it to the shredder. "I really want to put it in my collection. This picture...it's _you_, Rose. No pretense, no defences, just you. Just my friend." I locked eyes with her, putting all my gratitude and affection and pleading in that look.

It was a candid portrait snapped one random frosty Seattle morning when Rose was sat out on the rooftop garden, nursing a mug of coffee dressed in plain unadorned pajamas. The slow lazy swirls of steam framed her features and the early morning light set each angle of her face into focus. The light was perfect. Half her face was bathed in shadows, but the rest was lost in a rare moment of contemplation, soft and innocent as the low lights of the city framed her perfect visage into a moment of purity and subtle warmth.

I smiled to myself and traced my fingertip over the curve of her cheekbone. Rose placed her hand over mine, giving me a comforting squeeze and tilting her head onto my shoulder to leave the ghost of a kiss on my cheek.

This was the first show I'd done since I'd lost Jake and the baby; at least half the pictures were taken before... Rose and I never spoke of it, but it was with little moments like this that she reminded me that she loved me and I wasn't alone.

"Put it in, then," Rose conceded, still sounding a little exasperated but hiding it well. "But I swear, Swan, you want to show any more pictures of me and you give me a three hour warning and a hair and make-up budget. Deal?"

I smiled and nudged her. "Deal. And, Rose?

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, heading back over to her half of the pictures. I watched her fondly for a moment before turning back to my work where it lay on the dining room table.

**~ * ~**

Just after lunchtime the selected twenty-five photographs were sitting in a courier pack with the doorman, ready to be picked up by one of Heidi's lackeys. The pictures were all mainly black and white with the occasional splash of colour, largely similar to previous shows I'd put on except perhaps a little darker than usual.

Rose sighed heavily and lay back on the coach with a loud huff, stretching her arms and wriggling her toes as if she'd been performing manual labour for the past eight hours. "We should celebrate," she announced.

"Celebrate how?"

"Margarita happy hour."

I laughed. "Rose, it's not even one o'clock."

"So? San Pedro's uptown has a bankers' special to get all the suits liquored up in their lunch hour. We may as well join them."

"Don't you have to go to work?" I asked, amused.

Rose glanced at her watch and groaned. "No. Yes. Fuck, I hate my job. I have to meet with that ass from accounting and I can guarantee he'll spend the whole hour whacking off over EBIT and staring at my rack." She covered her face with her hand. "God, I need a new job."

The phone rang out loudly and I headed over to the kitchen to scoop it from the wall, nestling it against my shoulder and saying, "Hello?" I expected it to be Heidi, still panicking that everything was too last minute for the show. After all, she did have a point.

The caller's answering pause was a little too long. I knew someone was there because I could hear breathing, and for a moment I wondered if this was some pervert getting his kicks. About to hang up I asked again, slightly more terse this time, "Hello?"

"Bella?"

I went still, my eyes widening. I felt a strange heaviness in my chest and I had a moment to wonder idly if this was how the beginning of a panic attack felt before Rose threw a pillow at me from across the room, breaking me from my stupor. She gave me a '_what the fuck?_' look and waved her hand for me to speak.

I took a deep breath, then spoke. A statement. "Billy."

"How have you been, Bella?"

Billy Black's voice seemed older and sadder than I remembered. Whenever I'd spoken to him before - both while living with Jake and summers spent in La Push - he'd always had an air of joviality, had made his smile heard in his voice. But now he just sounded weary, and maybe a little lost.

"Better," I said softly. We'd not spoken much before Jake had been killed, and had spoken even less since. I felt a pang of guilt at that, realising how selfish I had been in my grief. "I'm sorry I haven't called."

"Me too," he replied, and for a moment I could hear the edge of that silver smile in my once father-in-law's voice. But it was weak. "We've missed you around here, Bella. We'd all love to see you."

I swallowed heavily at the thought of visiting First Beach, of walking amid the gnarled driftwood trees and multi-hued pebbles shining with wetness from the incoming tide... Being there without Jake.

God, the thought was intolerable.

The nearness of La Push was the reason I hadn't even made it to Forks in over a year, the reason I hadn't seen Charlie for so many months. The last time I had seen my father was when he'd come to see me at the hospital in Seattle after Jake and our daughter were killed and found me nearly catatonic.

"I'm not sure I can," I whispered. "Not yet. Not without Jake, it would just be..."

Billy sighed, a resigned yet understanding sound. "I know, Bella. I know."

There was a long silence again, both of us listening to the breathing of the other. Billy's was a heavier, a little more throaty; I imagined mine was faster than usual, the edge of panic pushing my heart rate up a little.

Eventually Billy spoke again. "I'm calling about your father, Bella."

I tensed. "Is Charlie okay?" I tried to remember the last time I'd spoken to him, and bit my lip when I realised it had been over three weeks. Maybe over a month, even.

"He's fine," Billy said, but his tone was slightly guarded. "When did you last speak to him?"

"Um, three weeks or so? What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened, Bella. I really don't mean to alarm you, there's no big secret. I'm just a little worried about him; he hasn't been to the res in a while, keeping more to himself than usual. I think he misses you, kid."

Tears burned the corner of my eyes. "I know, Billy. I miss him too, but I can't come back to Forks. It's like I'd see Jake everywhere and I just couldn't do it."

"I know, I know," Billy said hurriedly, sensing my impending panic. "Just give him a call, maybe get him to come up to Seattle for the day to visit you? Charlie's just like you - he broods too much when he's left alone."

I smiled sadly, reflecting on the truth of that. If I hadn't had Rose here to ignore my boundaries and anti-social tendencies then I'd have withdrawn into myself and never emerged. Rose broke through my clouds, but I'd left Charlie to be swallowed by his. Charlie had not only lost his son-in-law that day, he'd lost his best friend's child who he'd watched grow up. He'd also lost his daughter - lost _me_ - when I became a hollow person, a zombie.

"I will, Billy. Soon, I promise."

"Oh, and there was something else." I heard him clear his throat, then, "Did you get a call from a Detective Parker this week?"

I was dimly aware of my fingernails biting into my palm. "Yes."

"Did he..." Billy harrumphed again, his voice a little thick but otherwise composed. "He called me again this morning, mentioned that the trial date was set and will be coming up in a few weeks."

"We had the ringer turned off until about half an hour ago. I guess he'll call, want me to..." I trailed off, the words strangling in my throat.

"To testify," Billy finished, softly. "I'm so sorry, Bella. I'm not gonna lie and say it'll be easy, but I will say we'll all be there to help you. You're not alone."

I couldn't speak, just made an affirmative mumble as I looked up and blinked the tears back. The thought of reliving that night in front of a bunch of strangers, in front of _him_, the guy that killed them...

"Um, yeah. Um, I'm sorry Billy but I have to go. I have a show and need to finalise some...stuff." I gripped the phone tighter and leaned against the wall. "But thank you for calling, and for keeping an eye on Charlie."

"Of course, Bells. You know you guys are family."

That one statement injured and comforted me in equal measures. I bit my lip until I could taste the metallic tang of my blood, somehow managing to get out a normal sounding farewell before hanging up the phone.

I sunk back into the wall, head spinning and buried my head into my hands. I felt Rose's fingers in my hair, making meaningless soothing noises as I just sat there on the kitchen floor and drowned in the past.

**~ * ~**

**EPOV**

It was mocking me. Tormenting me. Expecting me to fall into its trap, if it even was a trap. Was that its game, to fake me out so I wouldn't even bother trying when that was really what it wanted? Or is it that it wanted me to second-guess myself until I got to the point where inaction was the only possible solution, because otherwise would be to -

"What are you doing, bro?"

"Fuck!" I swore, jerking at the intrusion and spilling hot coffee over my wrist. "Son of a bitch," I muttered, grabbing a handful of envelopes and trying unsuccessfully to mop it up. Emmett watched me with arms folded, clearly amused and clearly not offering to help. Asshole.

"You were staring at that phone like it just screwed your mom and then never called. What's going on with you?"

I frowned at him. "What are you even doing here, Emmett? Who's watching Mrs de Luca?"

"_Ms Webber_," Emmett drawled, emphasising her name, "Is just peachy. I was with her all last night and this morning, got her townhouse fixed up pretty damn tight now. I've left her with a couple of guys from Cheney's company, they're keeping an eye on her 'til tomorrow. Not a peep from Felix yet, hasn't even tried to call her."

I just grunted, tossing the handful of soggy envelopes into the trash can. Emmett leaned over and picked up the now half-empty mug of coffee and took a long gulp, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

"I was drinking that," I remarked dryly. He just shrugged and took another sip. "Now go away."

"So you're not going to explain the staring contest with the phone?"

"No. Go away."

Emmett snorted. "Fine, be all mysterious. I'm going to pick up a pizza anyway. Want anything?" I just shook my head and then turned to stare at the phone once again, watching Emmett leave the office out of the corner of my eye.

_Just call. You won't be able to think about anything else _until_ you call, so you may as well just give in to temptation now and attempt to have an afternoon which is more productive than the morning_.

My hand twitched towards the phone.

_This is insane stalker behaviour. This will also be the fourth time you've done this in two months and it only takes one random remark to Bella for her to realise there is demented person checking up on her_.

I clenched my fingertips together, steepling my hands and leaning on them to better stare down the technological gadget that was slowly driving me crazy.

_Fuck it._

I grabbed the ear piece and dialled the numbers with too-hard jabs of my fingers, then once it started ringing I had to resist the juvenile urge to just hang up without speaking.

"Good morning, Sam's Bagel Company."

"Yeah, hello," I said, tugging on my hair with my free hand. "I just need to check whether my girlfriend picked up our order this morning. The name is Swan."

"No problem, just let me check." The phone made a _clink_ as it was put down onto a hard surface and I could hear footsteps and muted voices in the background. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wanting to punch myself.

_This was ridiculous - all it took was one passing remark from one of the workers to Bella about her 'boyfriend' and I was fucked. Maybe they'd already become suspicious, maybe -_

"Hello? Hey, you still there?"

I sat up straighter. "Yes."

"That order was cancelled this morning. Want me to put it again for you to pick up?"

_Cancelled? Why? _Bella picked up bagels every Monday and Thursday without fail, I'd never known her to miss a day. Was she sick? Had something happened? Did she no longer bagels? Was she -

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Do you want me to resubmit the order?"

"No, um, no it's fine. Thanks." I hung up and leaned back in my hair, tugging my hair again and resisting the urge to yank handfuls of it out. Maybe they had some sort of anonymous support group for stalkers. I needed to Google that shit.

The bell over the door sounded and I looked up just as Jasper entered the office. He glanced over at me and then paused, appearing a little surprised. I shifted self-consciously, wondering if my inner turmoil was reflected across my face.

"Everything okay, Edward?" he asked cautiously.

"Fine," I snapped, clenching my jaw. Jasper looked sceptical and I shook my head. "Honestly, I'm fine, it's just...nothing."

Jasper stared at me for a long minute, cowboy blue eyes a little too perceptive and searching. But eventually he shrugged and nodded, heading over to his desk and draping his jacket over the back of his chair.

"Where's Alice?"

"Following de Luca," Jasper said sourly, his tone showing his clear disapproval of the whole idea. "It took nearly three hours of arguing but I got her to wear sneakers and a shoulder holster. She claimed it ruined the line of her jacket, but I think it would be messed up even more if he caught her without a gun."

I snorted. "Sounds like Alice. I'm amazed you managed to win with the shoes, actually. Especially because she'd already agreed with me that she'd take the gun."

Jasper smiled. "I know she'd already agreed, but I like to let her have her fun."

I just shook my head, amused. "Can you ask her to drop the Davies file off at the courthouse tomorrow morning?"

"She can't, said she's interviewing people all morning tomorrow."

"For Jane's old job?"

Jasper just shrugged. "Said she talked to you about it."

I frowned, vaguely remembering the conversation. "Can you take it?"

"Sure, just leave it on my desk."

I nodded and eyed the dregs of my coffee before deliberately dumping it into the trash. Fucking Emmett.

"Do you know who she's interviewing tomorrow?" Jasper asked.

"Nope. Why?"

Jasper leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms behind his neck. He looked a little puzzled. "It was just the way she mentioned it, like it was someone she already knew. She was weirdly excited about it."

The back of my neck prickled. "So she knows this person? Why's she doing an interview then?"

"Beats me," Jasper drawled, scratching his neck. "Don't even know if she know them, could just be Alice being Alice."

I forced out a short laugh and nodded. "Yeah."

Alice being Alice. The problem with that was that it was creeping the hell out of me and I had no idea why.

**~ * ~**

**A/N Thank you again to all my reviewers!! Sorry for the delay, updates won't take so long now.**

**Reviewers are rewarded by Edward stalking them about their bagel habits.**


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